


higher ground

by MissAntlers



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: 'cause that's what i'm about son, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Multi, Slow Burn, also clone wars??, and then rounding off with some revenge of the sith-era business, essentially mashing the phantom menace and attack of the clones together, more/better tags and character tags as we go, truly terrible tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-27
Updated: 2017-10-20
Packaged: 2018-09-20 04:02:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 23,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9474866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissAntlers/pseuds/MissAntlers
Summary: While aiding Senator Padme Amidala in an escape from a Separatist assassination attempt, Jedi Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi, his padawan Ahsoka Tano, and his old master Qui-Gon Jinn crash land on the harsh, unfamiliar planet of Tatooine. Here, their lives quickly become engaged with that of chaotic 19-year-old podracer, Anakin Skywalker.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Excuse those truly terrible tags.
> 
> I haven't written fan fiction in... literally years?? But. I was bored waiting for my husband to get home from work, and sort of out of nowhere I decided to begin writing this fic. (In fact, partial credit has to go to said husband for giving me a lot of ideas for the overall story.)
> 
> Essentially, it's a reimagining of the Tattooine scenes from The Phantom Menace mashed together with the second half of Attack of the Clones. But despite having only just decided to write this a couple of nights ago, I am kind of planning ahead to Revenge of the Sith territory as well. So... stay tuned??
> 
> In short, it's fun (maybe???) Prequel exploration plus obikin (although I have to apologise for the blatant lack of Anakin in this first chapter. Boy is there in the second one, bear with.)

From a distance it was a serene image: the star skiff made a wide arc in the air, its chromium flank winking against the thick black of space and reflecting the sore, dusty surface of Tatooine below. The sleek craft angled itself and began its nosedive towards the planet––almost effortless in the silence of the stars.

Up close, however, matters were quite different. Inside the cruiser, sirens screamed and emergency lighting flooded the interior with an anxious red glare. The remnants of the crew that had managed to board in time had been helpless to prevent the damage the starship sustained as it fled Naboo with Separatist bombers in hot pursuit. Being a diplomatic vessel, the craft lacked the arsenal that might have defended it from the onslaught of enemy fire that chased it from the system. As it was, the now-refugees of the once peaceful planet had been forced to watch as the beautiful ship––a culmination of some of their planet’s engineers’ greatest work––was burnt and shattered, and finally beaten into the very corner of space.

Captain Typho peered out of the cockpit viewport at the rapidly approaching Tattooine atmosphere. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

“It’s not ideal, I agree.” Obi-Wan Kenobi stepped up beside him to watch the descent. “But with the amount of damage our hyperdrive sustained we’re fortunate to find ourselves near an inhabited world at all.”

Typho narrowed his eyes as he spared the Jedi a quick glance, and Obi-Wan suspected the captain’s definition of fortunate varied greatly from his own. Inhabited didn’t necessarily mean _civilised_ , after all, and he doubted Typho had had much experience outside of the opulent throne rooms and elegant hallways of Theed.

Obi-Wan sighed and retreated to the doorway. “I had better make sure the others are prepared for landing.” To the rag-tag navigational crew he said, as confidently as he could muster: “Do try to bring her down gently.”

Emerging into the corridor he almost collided with his padawan. Ahsoka Tano leaped back, her hands balled into tiny fists, and stood poised looking particularly fierce in the terrible red light, until she realised by whom she had been startled.

“Master!” she said, raising her voice to be heard above the sirens. “You shouldn’t sneak up on me like that, I could have hurt you.”

Obi-Wan allowed himself a brief smile. “I don’t doubt it, young one. But what are you doing up here? Get back down to the lower deck and strap yourself in for landing.”

“Landing? On this dust pile?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“But master, we’ve got a _senator_ on board, we’ve got to be able to do better than this.”

“Now’s not the time for arguing, Ahsoka. We’re coming in fast, get to your station.”

The little togruta made a face, but nevertheless skittered back along the corridor towards the deck lift. Obi-Wan watched until she was out of sight, and then skirted around the cockpit and made a dash for the senator’s cabin.

“My lady, you’ve pre-empted me,” he said, bowing slightly as he entered.

Padme Amidala and her handmaids were already strapped in and braced for landing. “It may surprise you to learn, Master Jedi,” she said, wryly, “that this is not my first galactic skirmish.”

The ship lurched suddenly to one side, and Obi-Wan found himself tossed roughly against the wall. Before he could regain his balance, he had to twist to get out of the path of an ornamental vase that toppled from its stand on the opposite side of the room, slid across the floor and shattered in the very spot he had occupied moments before.

With no time to get back down to the crew’s quarters, Obi-Wan took his place beside the senator as the cruiser rattled and clanked, spiralling its way through the atmosphere of Tattooine. _This_ was why he hated flying. The safety straps dug hard into his shoulders every time the cabin rocked. As the ship hit the ground––hit something, at least––and then ricocheted back up into the air momentarily, the Jedi felt as though he’d left his stomach behind. Padme barely flinched as, outside, the craft dived headlong into a sandbank, rotating and churning up the dust with its huge sweeping wings as it did so, knocking everything out of place that wasn’t strapped down, and eventually coming to rest on its side with the nose buried deep in a dune.

There was an audible sigh of relief ship-wide. The violent landing had killed the sirens and the emergency lights, and now a tranquil hum reigned as the ship’s usual systems booted back up. A pale light from the overheads in the senator’s quarters threw into relief the chaos of upset furniture and clothes flung from hastily packed suitcases. Padme’s unflappable aides unstrapped themselves and immediately began attending to the damage.

Obi-Wan pushed his hair from his eyes and glanced at the senator. Despite an assassination attempt this morning, followed by a narrow escape from enemy droid ships, and now a crash landing on an unfamiliar planet, she looked about as troubled as if she’d just realised there was an irritating insect buzzing in the corner of the room.

The Jedi Knight clapped her lightly on the shoulder as he stood up. “Another happy landing, my lady.”

“Indeed, Kenobi,” she replied. “Never a dull moment with you Jedi around. Speaking of which, what happened to the rest of you? Is everyone all right?”

A good question. Ahsoka, he hoped, was safely below, but he hadn’t seen Qui-Gon since well before they began the landing cycle.

“I shall see to that at once, my lady.” Obi-Wan performed another, more elegant bow, an illustration of his improved mood. “That is, if you’ll not be needing me here.”

“No, thank you, Kenobi,” she said. “But please inform me when you’re preparing to disembark.”

“Of course, my lady.”

With that he returned to the corridor, now bathed in a cool white light, and made his way this time to the lift. On reaching the lower deck he found a similar scene of disruption––canisters overturned, hand-combat weapons scattered across the floor, and (perhaps more worryingly) a choked beeping coming from the engineering room.

Ahsoka was there to greet him outside the crew’s quarters. The crash hadn’t been enough to wipe the smile off her face, he noted gladly, although now he himself was beginning to feel a little queasy. It wasn’t like his old master to disappear in a crisis.

“Where’s Qui-Gon?” he asked. “He wasn’t with the senator.”

Ahsoka rolled her eyes, still grinning. “Master Jinn’s _still_ in his cabin.”

“Don’t tell me he managed to meditate through all _that_.” But even as he spoke he knew that if anyone were capable of keeping a clear head through the landing they’d just had, it would be Qui-Gon.

Obi-Wan followed Ahsoka as she picked her way through the clutter of the crash to a closed steel door. Behind it, the young Jedi could sense his former master, still deep in contemplation.

Ahsoka seemed to feel it too. “Perhaps we should come back later?”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “I’m afraid not. Senator Amidala is eager to make plans, and I for one agree with her. These Outer Rim planets can be perilous. We would do well to locate the nearest settlement so we can begin making repairs to the ship.”

Ahsoka raised her hand to knock, but before she could do so the door _whooshed_ open, and Qui-Gon Jinn stood before them, utterly dishevelled, but with an expression of contentment settling into familiar creases in his face.

“Obi-Wan,” he said, “I thought I told you to put the ship down gently.”

“Well I could have done with a little help."

“I was busy,” Qui-Gon replied. “I was right, the Force had much to tell me. It was imperative that I listen.”

“What did the Force say to you?” Ahsoka piped up.

For a moment Qui-Gon shut his eyes and smiled. Obi-Wan knew that face from his padawan days:  _That’s for me to know and for you to find out_. Well, they could worry about Qui-Gon’s riddles later. For now they had more pressing business.

The Jedi reconvened in the senator’s cabin––now mostly restored to its pre-crash serenity––along with Captain Typho and his remaining Naboo security guards. Padme voiced her wish, not dissimilar to Obi-Wan’s own, to make contact with the nearest township and to set in motion their exit from the planet as soon as possible.

“I will go,” said Qui-Gon, in a voice that his old apprentice thought surprisingly eager.

“Even for you, Master Jinn, I think it unsafe to travel alone.” Padme gestured to her head of security. “Will you at least take Captain Typho with you?”

Qui-Gon shook his head. “I will take Obi-Wan Kenobi with me, if you please, my lady. Padawan Tano and Captain Typho will be more than enough defence should any possible danger arise here.” When Padme shot him a puzzled look he added: “The Force is with me, my lady. I believe that what lies ahead on this planet is Jedi business.”

As perplexed as Obi-Wan was by Qui-Gon’s response, it seemed to satisfy the young senator, who simply nodded her acceptance. “Take that R2 unit with you though, Master Jinn,” she said, before the impromptu meeting concluded. “He has a read out of the parts we require, and a much better range than com-links. I want to be able to maintain clear communications with you at all times.”

“Very wise, my lady,” Obi-Wan replied, before Qui-Gon could protest.

 

* * *

 

Ahsoka hadn’t appreciated being left behind. Obi-Wan could hardly blame her. He didn’t suppose he would have enjoyed it much at that age, knowing there was adventure to be had on a strange new world instead.

And what a world.

The desert stretched uninterrupted in every direction to far off shimmering horizons. No plants grew here. No visible life stirred. It was only heaped golden dunes for mile after mile. A plume of white smoke rising from the wreckage was still visible, even as they dipped behind another sand dune. The Jedi explorers and their astromech companion were watched by two swollen suns, perched high in the vast, otherwise empty sky above them. Obi-Wan could feel the warmth of the sand through his boots as he walked, and there was no breeze to push away the smothering heat. Sweat plastered his hair to his forehead and the back of his neck. His robes became uncomfortably damp as the journey went on, and when they crested yet another dune and saw no sign of civilisation on the horizon, Obi-Wan gave in and stripped down to his waist. Qui-Gon, he noted, seemed untroubled by the heat.

At last–– _at last_ ––the Jedi, clambering to the top of a particularly large bank, were greeted with the sight of domes and craters of a little town that pockmarked the landscape in the distance. Obi-Wan was so relieved he could have sank to his knees, but a somewhat childish longing to appear stoic in front of his old teacher kept him unhappily upright.

“There it is,” said Qui-Gon, almost reverently. “The Force has led us here, Obi-Wan. Our destiny lies this way.”

The Force? Obi-Wan blinked hard against the harsh desert light. He supposed he ought to know Qui-Gon well enough by now to be assured that he wouldn’t go wandering in the wilderness without direction, but still––them coming upon this township, couldn’t it just have been...?

“In my experience there’s no such thing as luck,” Qui-Gon interjected, casting a knowing smile at his former padawan.

Obi-Wan found he couldn’t help but smile back. “Quite right. But Master––I sense you’re looking to find something more here than parts for the ship.”

“Your instincts serve you well, Obi-Wan.”

Qui-Gon began edging his way down the other side of the dune. R2-D2 shuffled forward, but eventually resorted to sliding the rest of the way down, issuing a string of shrill beeps as he went. Obi-Wan hurried to catch up with them, stumbling as he did so, and leaving great gashes in the sand. Now whenever he moved he could feel the grit rubbing against his skin under his clothes.

“Master,” he pressed, as they strode out across the plain towards the settlement, “what _did_ the Force tell you, back on the ship?”

Qui-Gon chuckled. “You sound like your padawan.”

“Well she has to learn it from somewhere. But––Master?” And, despite his best efforts, he felt like the apprentice once again, not wishing to overstep his mark, and yet so desperate to find answers to his questions.

Even as he walked, Qui-Gon closed his eyes again and that familiar, distant smile returned to his face. “The Force told me there is someone here that we must find. Someone who will change _everything_.”

And although Obi-Wan probed, he would say nothing more. They walked on towards uncertainty; the wind picked up and set about erasing their scumbled footprints in the sand behind them, the only trace that they had ever been there at all.


	2. Chapter 2

Anakin Skywalker sat on the domed roof of the junk shop, savouring his few stolen moments of respite, and looking out across the earthy vista of Mos Espa. Up here the air was clearer, free from dust and sand; even the harsh chatter of the market seemed so much further away. Down below it was all tangy Kessellian spices, the clammy stench of exotic meats left out in the heat too long, the musty reek of Bantha, the taste of copper in the air––but up here, if only for a little while, things were pure, and he was free.

It was from this vantage point that he spotted the three strangers. Mos Espa drew an unusual clientele, certainly, but they were mostly familiar to him, or, in the very least, they seemed to blend in. These three did not. The two humans looked tired, their faces dirty, their hair and beards thick with sand. The astromech––an R2 model, by the looks of it––was moving slowly, obviously clogged with the contents of the desert. Wherever they’d come from, they had set out unprepared.

Anakin retrieved one of Greedo’s hand rolled cigarettes from behind his ear and sparked it up as he watched the strangers trudging through the market. The younger of the two men seemed more aware than his elder of the cagey eyes that followed them. He had been shirtless before, but now shrugged back into his robes, regarding the passers-by defiantly as he did so. Anakin dragged lazily on his cigarette. Those were Jedi robes, thinly disguised as farming drabs, perhaps more so by the effects of the desert than anything else, but Anakin had a keen eye. What business Jedi had in a dust bowl like Mos Espa he had no idea. It smelled like trouble to him, and that piqued his interest.

He shut his eyes and inhaled the pale blue smoke, relishing the burning sensation in the back of his throat. It was good to _feel_ something, he thought; the desert could so easily numb you. It was good to feel anything, especially on his own terms. When he opened his eyes, the strangers had vanished.

“Ani!” the low, nasal voice of Watto sounded from the shop below. “Get down here, Ani. We’ve got customers.”

Anakin groaned. He took one last half-hearted drag and then tossed the cigarette away, before clambering back down the makeshift ladder he used to gain access to the roof.

The blue Toydarian hovered in waiting for him as he jumped the final couple of feet to the ground. Watto waved one of his three-fingered hands in front of his snout in exaggerated disgust.

“Have you been up there sucking on those death sticks again?”

Anakin shook his head. “No, sir. Just enjoying the view.”

Watto snorted. “I thought I raised you to lie better than that, boy.”

“Didn’t you say something about customers?”

“Ah, I did, I did.” The Toydarian’s eyes lit up. “Outlanders by the looks of them. It shouldn’t be a difficult sale, but I need you to watch the shop if I take them out back.”

Anakin followed Watto back to the pleasant cool of inside. Although he was accustomed to the heat, he preferred the shadows to the glare of the binary. It took him a moment to adjust to the dimness of Watto’s shop, but upon doing so he found, much to his surprise, that the new customers were in fact the Jedi and their droid.

The elder of the two regarded him with a very pointed look indeed, but when he spoke he addressed Watto.

“I need parts for a J-type Naboo star skiff.”

Watto pawed at one of his sagging chins, appearing to mull over the Jedi’s request. “Ah yes, J-type,” he said at last. “We have lots of that. What kind of junk are you looking for?”

“My droid has a readout of what I need,” said the man, gesturing to the astromech. From its drawn-out beeps Anakin could tell the machine was tired, but it waddled forwards obligingly nevertheless.

Watto nodded. “Good, good. Follow me out the back.” He motioned towards the arch that led out into the daylight. “We’ll find what you need.”

The elder Jedi departed with his astromech trailing sluggishly behind, leaving Anakin alone with the other man, who began busying himself by carding the sand from his hair with his fingers. Anakin hopped up onto Watto’s workbench and watched him. He was perhaps ten years older than Anakin, give or take, but shorter, and although he was dirt-spattered from his travels, his clothes were clearly of high quality and his hands lacked the callouses that developed with manual work.

“Are you from the capital?” Anakin asked. It wasn’t his business, he knew that; all Watto wanted him to do was make sure nobody stole anything. But this stranger, stranger though he was, looked far too neat, too elegant to be the criminal type––at least not the kind Anakin was used to. In fact, he’d never seen anyone who looked less like they belonged here, and yet fit into the picture so pleasantly. It wasn’t his business to talk to him, but Anakin was determined to talk to him nonetheless.

The man looked up at him, and in a rich, confident voice replied, “Excuse me?”

Anakin sorely wished he had another cigarette. He liked having something to fiddle with. He settled for a skinny wrench left out on the worktop, and began twirling it in his fingers.

“You’re not from around here,” he said. “I can tell.”

“Oh?” said the man, folding his arms, “And how do you know so much?”

“I’m not just a pretty face.”

The man raised his eyebrows. “Is that so?”

Anakin looped the wrench around behind his back and caught it with his other hand. “Back when I belonged to Gardulla the Hutt, I used to listen to the deep space pilots’ stories. There’s not much they haven’t seen. You pick up a lot that way.”

The man had, up until now, been observing him rather fondly, but he suddenly stiffened and regarded him with a horribly sympathetic look. “You’re a slave?”

Anakin frowned and lowered the wrench, still enclosed tightly in his fist. “I’m a _person_ , and my name is Anakin.”

The man nodded. “My apologies.” He glanced around, seeming for the first time to properly take in the strange mismatch of machine parts and repair tools that lined the interior of the shop. “What a curious place.” He leaned over to inspect a dormant DUM pit droid, its legs still stowed away under its round, flat head. “And you know what all of this junk does?”

“Well that one’s not exactly complicated. Droids like that repair the pods during races.”

The man straightened up and shot him a roguish smile. “Not just a pretty face indeed.”

Anakin’s attempt to return the expression went unnoticed, however, for at that moment the older Jedi reappeared. He walked briskly and didn’t look as if he were going to stop.

“Come on, Obi-Wan,” he said, eyes fixed on the exit. “We’re leaving.”

Perhaps these outlanders weren’t so easily swindled after all, Anakin thought. Judging by the indignation on the Jedi’s face, he clearly hadn’t been impressed with Watto’s sales pitch.

The R2 unit beeped lethargically as it trundled past and out into the sunlit plaza. The elder Jedi didn’t look back. But before he disappeared as well, the younger man––Obi-Wan––turned and nodded at him.

“I’m glad to have met you, Anakin.”

“I was glad to meet you too,” he called back, raising his hand slightly in an idle farewell gesture.

Shortly after their departure, he heard the low hum of rapidly beating wings, and turned to see Watto hovering behind him. He slid off the workbench at once, but his master seemed not to have noticed he was sitting there at all. The Toydarian’s short trunk quivered as he shook his head.

“Can you believe it? He tried to pay me in Republic credits!” He snorted. “Outlanders. Think they know everything.”

Anakin shrugged. “They seemed nice enough to me.”

Watto put a stubby hand on Anakin’s shoulder and chuckled. “Ani, my boy, if you go through life thinking that anyone who makes eyes at you is your friend, you’ll come to an end faster than if you keep smoking those death sticks.”

Anakin frowned and looked back at the spot where Obi-Wan had been standing, smiling at him, just moments before. He heard Watto emit a croaky sigh behind him.

“Finish cleaning the racks, Ani. Then you can go chase after whoever you want.”

Anakin spun the little wrench in his hand again, and slunk off to the back of the shop, muttering a deadpan “Yipee” as he went.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I posted this literally minutes after the first one, so honestly, whatever you read on the last page probably still applies.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much for all the fab comments on here and on Tumblr, you guys are the best, wow.
> 
> This one took a little longer than I meant it to because I wasn't super happy with it. It feels a bit disjointed to me because I wrote a third of it in a cafe, a third in an airport, and the rest last night?? Apologies if it reads terribly. I can't even tell anymore.
> 
> Also, I had to trawl through so much Phantom Menace script and eventually decided that Sebulba was just going to have to speak Basic, so there's that too.

Ahsoka stood on the landing ramp as the wind picked up and whipped her robe about her legs. The padawan raised a hand to shield her eyes against the swirling dust particles as she squinted into the desert. The horizon had disappeared, replaced with a dull brown blur. She knew this sight well––however far away, it was a stark reminder of her home world of Shili, where the clouds of dirt could roll in from the scrublands with similar ferocity.

Padme appeared beside her, glancing warily at Ahsoka and then back out to the smudgy distance. “What is it?”

“Sandstorm,” Ahsoka replied grimly. “This will slow them down.”

The senator placed a hand on the togruta’s bony shoulder. “I’m sure Master Kenobi and Master Jinn are safe. You know _them_. It’d take more than a sandstorm to––”

She hesitated, and Ahsoka could hear the fear in the silence she left behind. It was a fear she sensed in herself as well, but keeping her training in mind, she did her best to swallow it. Her mandate was to protect Padme. Stranded in the wilderness with limited supplies, and now separated from Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon––their only way off this rock––the best chance they had at surviving was to maintain a sense of unity and strength. Fear could be the greatest threat they faced now, but she would do her best to protect Padme from it.

Ahsoka reached up and squeezed the senator’s hand. “Don’t worry, my lady. They’re safe. We all are.” Nodding reassuringly, she turned and followed Padme up the ramp to the safety of the skiff, but not without a last defiant glance at the encroaching storm.

 

* * *

 

The narrow streets of Mos Espa funnelled the desert wind into the plaza, rattling the market stalls as the vendors hurried to tie everything down and find shelter. Sand was already beginning to pile up outside doors and windows as Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon made their way further into town. They would find lodging there, the Jedi Master had assured, although Obi-Wan had his reservations about the quality of any establishment out here––and its clientele. The inhabitants of this planet left a lot to be desired, except perhaps––well, the boy in the junk shop was a little less motley than the rest, he supposed.

Visibility was poor in the gathering storm. What had been a bright, bustling afternoon only half an hour ago was now a dingy, windswept twilight. Footprints were blown away or filled in before whomever had left them was out of sight. The trio travelled slowly, partly because the grit in their eyes made it hard to see the space ahead of them, partly because their feet ached with a whole day’s worth of walking, and partly because R2-D2 was now shuddering along more lugubriously than before.

It was understandable then that the poor droid was unable to move out of the way in time when something came lurching out of the murk of the storm and careened right into him. R2 beeped wildly as he toppled off balance and hit the ground face-first with a hollow clank. The astromech’s assailant was a peculiar creature, who walked on what appeared to be his hands, holding his small, withered feet out in front of him as if he were begging. He let out a furious yell and swiped at the droid, addressing the R2 unit in an unfamiliar language that consisted mostly of vowels, although the Jedi hardly needed to be fluent in order to get the gist of what was said.

Obi-Wan made to move to R2’s defence, but Qui-Gon held him back with a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Let him be, Obi-Wan,” he said quietly. “We don’t want to start a fight with the locals.”

“But Master, he’s carrying the read-outs of our ship.”

“I doubt they’ll be of much use to us here after all. Come on, finding shelter is our priority for the time being.”

Poor R2. Glancing back over his shoulder, Obi-Wan felt a pang of pity for the droid, as he and Qui-Gon began to walk away. He was only a machine, true, but he had saved their lives not so very long ago, risking his own small existence clinging to the hull of the skiff to repair it as they fled Naboo’s atmosphere. Was it really the right thing to do, to just turn their backs on him at the hands (or feet?) of an unknown attacker on some strange planet so far from home? Was it the _Jedi_ thing to do?

He was about to turn back when he heard a yelp from behind him that quickly dissolved into a hiss. Wheeling around, he saw the junk shop boy standing over R2 and grinning down at the droid’s aggressor sprawled in the dust.

“Anakin?”

Obi-Wan didn’t even realise he’d said the name out loud until the young man looked up at him and smiled. With the wind tossing up his hair and what remained of the sunlight setting in his eyes, there was something almost wicked in Anakin’s face. He seemed unperturbed by the blustering squall; his bare, sun-stained arms apparently impervious to the stinging sand that felt as though it were biting Obi-Wan’s skin. There was something particularly primal about his broad shoulders and the curve of his spine, the scars on his elbows, and the way he stood. To have called him pretty back in the shop had been an error in judgement, in the very least an error in the use of language––out here, in what was likely his own territory, he was the desert, a wilderness unto himself.

“You think you can get away with this, boy?” the creature sneered as it picked itself up, jabbing a long finger into Anakin’s chest.

Anakin swatted the hand away, casually leaning back from him. “If you want a fight, Sebulba, at least pick someone who can fight back. I’d be happy to oblige––but,” he added, pretending for a moment to inspect the grit under his fingernails, “I’d hate to see you diced before we race again.”

Sebulba hissed, narrowing his eyes as he pushed himself up to his full height, which was still lower than Anakin’s collarbone, but stretched out he looked even more hideous than before. “Next time we race, boy, it’ll be the end of you. I’d squash you right now if you weren’t a slave.” With a last hateful glance, Sebulba hocked up a gob of spit into the sand and slunk away into the gloom of the storm.

“Yeah,” Anakin called after him, “it’d be a shame if you had to pay for me.” He reached down and heaved R2 back up onto his feet, wiping away the sand encrusted on the droid’s eye. “You all right?” He glanced up at Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon as they approached; still addressing the astromech, he added: “You’d think your Jedi escorts would do a better job of protecting you.”

If the remark bothered Qui-Gon it didn’t show. The old Jedi smiled, and with that fatherly tone he had so often used when Obi-Wan was still his padawan, he simply said: “Thank you, my young friend.”

Anakin shrugged. “I’m always happy to scrap with Sebulba.” He patted R2’s domed head fondly. “You should take care of this little guy. He’s still in good condition––if you can clean the sand out of him.”

“And where did you come from?” Obi-Wan couldn’t help but ask. “You weren’t following us by any chance, were you?”

“If I was following you it was _entirely_  by chance, I promise,” the young man replied, although not without a hint of a smirk. He looked back at where Sebulba had been not long ago. “I guess I’m just attracted to trouble.”

“Perhaps it’s the other way around,” said Obi-Wan.

“Speaking of trouble,” said Qui-Gon, drawing his hood up around his wizened face, “I think this storm’s only going to get worse. We need to find somewhere to shelter.”

“You can stay at mine, if you like,” Anakin suggested. “It’s not far from here.”

“Oh no, we couldn’t possibly...” Obi-Wan began saying, although trailed off when he realised he didn’t quite know how to end that sentence. He wasn’t sure he wanted to be in Anakin’s house. There would be a lot of _him_ there.

Luckily, Anakin didn’t seem interested in the end of the sentence anyway. “Come on, outlander,” he said. He grabbed R2 by the shoulders and began pulling him through the dust as he headed towards a little side alley off from the main street. “I won’t be able to sleep if I don’t get all the sand out of this droid.”

“Your new friend is quite something,” said Qui-Gon. “I suppose we had better follow him.”

Obi-Wan nodded wearily. “He _is_ sort of stealing our R2 unit.”

Clasping their cloaks tightly around their throats, they set off in the wake of R2’s tread tracks. The gale bullied them and tugged heavily at their robes and their hair, but they pressed on, on blistered feet, following Anakin through the storm.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow I took forever to update this, I am sorry. I love love love you for sticking with it, and for all the wonderful comments I've had in the interim, thank you!
> 
> And to the person on Tumblr who asked me where Jar Jar was, he's where he belongs: not here.

Anakin sat cross-legged on the floor, a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth, fiddling with a screwdriver as he tried to open one of R2-D2’s front plates. Outside, the wind sharpened itself on the rocks and howled mournfully. The lamps whirred and flickered, illuminating the mottled, earthy walls and homely clutter of the little kitchen. Anakin glanced over to where the tall cylindrical power generator stood on the far side of the room, and hoped it wouldn’t choose this evening, of all evenings, to finally give out.

The Jedi sat at the makeshift dining table; the elder, who had introduced himself as Qui-Gon Jinn, was elaborating on the damage to their starship. He neatly avoided any mention of how they came to be stranded in the first place, but seemed quite content to ramble about J-type hyperdrives and sublight engines. Anakin was happy to listen, glad to have a distraction from the storm outside, and to see the usually empty chairs at the table occupied for a change.

“I could take a look at your ship, if you like,” he said, wielding his screwdriver. “I’m better with droids, but if it’s metal and wires I bet it’ll make some kind of sense to me.”

Qui-Gon nodded. “I can believe that, my young friend, but our first task is to acquire the parts we need.”

“Yeah, Watto wasn’t too impressed with your Republic credits.”

Seated across from the wizened Jedi, Obi-Wan was emptying the sand from his boots.

“Seems like you brought half the desert with you,” Anakin noted, looking up from the sleeping astromech. “I thought Jedi were supposed to––I don’t know…be prepared?”

Obi-Wan smiled wearily. “Well, I wasn’t prepared for this, I’ll give you that.”

“If by _this_ , you mean finding yourself holed up with a fine upstanding gentleman such as myself, then I’ll take it.”

Obi-Wan sighed, carding his fingers through his hair and casting off specks of sand that looked like gold dust in the lamplight.

“You live here alone then?”

Anakin nodded, dislodging a screw from R2’s front panel. “It used to be me and my mother, until she moved on.”

The Jedi exchanged sombre glances.

“She’s not _dead_.”

“Pardon?”

“You looked so serious!” he laughed. “My mother’s not dead. Watto sold her––to this moisture farmer out by Anchorhead.” He smiled fondly. “He married her.”

Obi-Wan cocked his head to one side, looking down at the young mechanic. “But you didn’t go with her.” His voice was curiously gentle, Anakin thought. He seemed to have left behind any traces of pity back at the junk shop. Anakin could have curled up in that voice, in the warmth of it, the unassuming tenderness, and slept long and dreamless.

Instead he just sighed, and dragged on his cigarette. The smoke stung his eyes; he hoped they didn’t think he was crying. “That’s not the way it works out here. Her husband, Lars, he even tried to buy me for her once, but Watto wouldn’t have it.” He shrugged and flicked off a build-up of ash. “It could be worse though; I could still be working for the Hutts.”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “Surely the Republic’s anti-slavery laws––”

Anakin snorted. “The Republic doesn’t exist out here.”

“Well now, there I’m inclined to agree with you.” His face seemed hazy, blurred at the edges of Anakin’s vision by weariness and too much smoke in the air. The dim light played the mathematician on bone structure spattered with dust and grime.

Anakin propped his cigarette back between his lips and returned to work on the droid. He recoiled slightly as he finally eased off one of the panels and sand streamed out into his lap.

“Why wouldn’t Watto let you go?” asked Qui-Gon, although the distance in his tone made it sound as though he were putting the question to himself rather than Anakin.

He shrugged one shoulder. “I’m his best racer. That’s where he makes his real money.” Glancing up at Obi-Wan he tilted his head back and breathed out a taper of smoke. “You ever catch a podrace in the capital?”

“No,” Qui-Gon answered instead, “but I’ve seen podracing on Malastare. Very fast. Very dangerous.”

Malastare. It was an unfamiliar collection of syllables that sounded so very far away.

“Yeah, well, I’m the only human who can do it,” said Anakin, and he didn’t care if they heard the smirk in his voice. He was good at racing pods. He was good at smashing them to pieces on the course as well, sure, but he could always put them back together again. And when he was tearing along with the wind whipping up his hair and the taste of engine oil on the back of his tongue, he was free––just for a little while––from the dogged sense that there was always something else he ought to be doing, always somewhere else he ought to be. When he raced, he was going too fast for his guilt to catch up to him.

Qui-Gon didn’t look nearly as surprised as Anakin might have expected. He simply nodded and said, matter-of-factly: “You must have Jedi reflexes.”

Well now, wouldn’t that be something, he thought dryly.

“These races though,” Qui-Gon mused. “Greed can be a powerful ally, when properly utilised.”

“I’ve built a pod.” Anakin felt the skin on his arms prickle, the same way it did just before firing up the engines. “There’s a big race tomorrow on Boonta Eve. The prize money would more than pay for the parts you need.”

“Anakin.” Obi-Wan had that pitiful look in his eyes again; it made Anakin’s skin crawl. “We don’t want to put you in any danger. Another way will present itself.”

“Well, sure, I suppose you could always hold Watto at sabre-point, threaten to toast his wings if he doesn’t give you the parts.” Obi-Wan frowned, but Anakin waved the smouldering stub of his cigarette at him. “What? You’re out in the badlands now, Master Jedi, the clue’s in the name.

“Look, my mom always said the biggest problem in this galaxy was that nobody helps each other.” He sighed; he missed her like a limb. He couldn’t even leave Mos Espa without Watto’s say so––Anchorhead felt as far away as Malastare or Coruscant. “You tried one way and it didn’t work out; _I’m_ presenting you with another.” He turned to Qui-Gon. “I can win you those parts, Master Jinn, sir. I promise.”

The old Jedi leaned forward and put a large paw of a hand on Anakin’s shoulder, an oddly fatherly gesture that jarred him for a moment. His face––a warm face with noble features, and comfort in the creases that hinted at the paths of old smiles––was flecked with dirt, and Tatooine’s rough winds had tangled his long, greying hair.

“You and your friend can get washed up if you need to,” Anakin said, gesturing to the kitchen doorway and the refresher beyond. “It’s not good to have the desert on you for too long. It’ll rot you.”

That was the point of this planet, really, he thought. Hot and sore and cruel, life wasn’t nurtured here, it was condemned to sweat and blisters and vultures’ talons before it had even got started. In the end, they were all just bones in the desert; some of them just didn’t realise it yet.

“We will take you up on that offer, my young friend,” Qui-Gon said, unfolding from his seat. Anakin hadn’t fully appreciated before just how towering the elder Jedi was. He was tall, certainly, but even his _presence_ seemed to take up space.

Obi-Wan rose as his companion did, an action that seemed to Anakin both a mark of respect and simple muscle memory. He’d been the same when he first came to work for Watto. Servitude to Gardulla the Hutt had come with a great deal of bowing and scraping and internalising prescribed movements so that they felt like your own. Watto, on the other hand, couldn’t care less if his slaves dropped to their knees and grovelled in the dirt when he went by, so long as they kept the shop tidy. Still, having learned it so young, he’d found it a hard habit to kick, and an easy one to recognise in others.

Anakin led them out of the kitchen and into the hallway. He retrieved a couple of towels from a storage cupboard, the gutted remains of an old jukebox from Mos Espa’s first cantina, and handed them to the Jedi.

“Refresher’s up the stairs on the right.” He glanced down at their travel-stained robes. “I don’t think I have any clothes that’ll fit you, but we might be able to find someone who can clean those up for you in the morning.”

“We’re most grateful to you, Anakin,” said Qui-Gon. The look he gave Obi-Wan then was almost smug. “And you thought we wouldn’t meet anyone _civilised_ on this planet.”

Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows. “I’m not entirely convinced he isn’t an outlier.”

“Oh I definitely am,” Anakin replied, turning to head back to the kitchen. This planet would swallow them whole if it could. With a last look over his shoulder at Obi-Wan, he added, “Cheer up. I know it’s not Coruscant, but it has it’s charms.”

 

* * *

 

Anakin could tell the storm had died down when he thought he could hear the clarity in the air. He let out a breath he felt he'd been holding all day, and let his head fall back against the floor.

It had been a bad dream. His mind still swam with ephemeral impressions of his mother’s face. A greasy yellow light picked out the tear tracks on his cheeks, and the blood on his fingers as he held her and felt her slipping away from him.

He left a freshly unclogged R2 on the mat where he had fallen asleep, and went out to the back of the little house and sat on the wall. The desert galloped away from him in the dark, blue and bewitching. The muscles in his legs ached from being bunched up on the floor. He’d given Obi-Wan his bed, and cleared some space in his mother’s old room and offered it to Qui-Gon. If he closed his eyes, he could feel the shifts and lilts in the energy around him that told him the latter was asleep. Obi-Wan, however, found him moments later with his legs dangling over the wall, gazing into the darkness.

“You can’t sleep either?” Anakin asked.

The Jedi rested his elbows on the top of the wall and leaned into it. He was wrapped in his blemished cloak, holding it tight around his neck against the bone-deep chill of the night. His hair was stuck up at a chaotic angle, and he had a couple of abrasions that had been hidden by the dirt before, but Anakin thought he preferred him like this. Even with dust on his face he’d not been without his Jedi grace, but now Anakin could see the flush in his cheeks from the cold, and he looked more human, less out of reach. He could be anybody. He could be just like Anakin.

“You’re too restless,” Obi-Wan replied sleepily. “I can sense you worrying all the way out here.”

“I’m fine,” he lied. “Just bad dreams.” He leaned back and looked up at the sky. It was as if someone had spilled the stars, he thought; there were so many. “Do they all have a system of their own?” he asked.

Obi-Wan looked up too. “Most of them.”

“Has anyone been to them all?”

“Hm.” Obi-Wan shot him a sidelong smile. “Not likely.”

“I want to be the first one to see them all.”

They lapsed into an easy silence, contented as if this was something they did all the time. With heavy eyelids they stayed staring out into the ink of the night, until Obi-Wan sighed, shrugged out of his cloak, and draped it around Anakin’s shoulders.

“You were shivering,” he said, when Anakin looked puzzled. Sleep dragged at the words.

Anakin hadn’t even noticed.

“Get some rest, young one.” The Jedi took one last look at the stars, and at Anakin, before retreating to the warmth of the hovel, rubbing his fingers together to stave off the cold.

Anakin remembered very little after that. At some point he went back inside, and curled up around R2 like a dog. He dreamed he was up amongst the stars, skimming by as if he were in one of his pods. Somehow, he was quite certain that he wasn’t alone. When he woke the next morning, the sunlight poking under the shutters already hot on his cheek, he found he was still wearing Obi-Wan’s cloak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me at flurgburgler.tumblr.com where I sometimes talk about this, and I draw a lot of Skywalkers.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short interlude before the race.

That morning Obi-Wan awoke early, guilt pressing on him as though somebody had crept in and laid a boulder on his chest while he slept. He needed to contact Senator Amidala. He should have done so as soon as they’d arrived in town last night, but what with the storm and R2 shutting down…everything had happened so suddenly. Most of all, however, he needed to contact Ahsoka. She was probably putting on a brave face, but he knew his apprentice; she had learned a long time ago to better conceal her fear of abandonment, but she carried it with her like a smouldering coal wherever she went.

The bed sheets smelled faintly of engine oil, of cigarettes, of Anakin. In spite of the coarse blankets, the poking stems of the dried grass used to pack the mattress, and his concerns for his padawan, Obi-Wan was content to lie there for a little while longer.

In his service as a Jedi, he had flown from one end of the galaxy to the other on more than one occasion; he’d been to planets engulfed by perpetual storms, travelled city streets submersed entirely underwater, met with warrior queens, giant beasts, ancient witches––but he had never encountered anyone like Anakin. The more time he spent around him he could understand why Qui-Gon had taken such an interest in him. He was a bright centre to the universe.

At last Obi-Wan began to feel like he was languishing. With a sigh, he slid out of bed, and padded silently to the kitchen. He found their host curled up on the mat, still wrapped in the Jedi’s cloak.

“Come on, R2,” he whispered.

The droid chirped as he seemed to come to life.

“ _Quietly_.”

R2 whistled softly, and began rolling towards to door. Obi-Wan followed, but not before reaching down and tugging the edge of the cloak so that it covered Anakin’s bare feet.

 

* * *

 

“The boy tells me you want to sponsor him in the race. How can you do this?” Watto demanded. “Not on Republic credits, I think.”

They had returned to the junk shop at Anakin’s behest, and––much to Obi-Wan’s disapproval––Qui-Gon’s full support, in order to lay down the boy’s plan for entering the podrace. Anakin, however, seemed quite happy to let the Jedi do the talking while he lingered in the corner with R2, wiping down the astromech’s outer panels and clicking away to him in what sounded like binary.

Qui-Gon folded his arms and regarded the junk dealer calmly. “My ship will be the entry fee.” He gestured for R2. The droid’s domed head swivelled round as he beeped once and then looked back at Anakin.

“Go ahead, buddy,” he said, giving R2 a nudge. The astromech produced a low whistle, before rolling forward to Qui-Gon’s side. There was a brief whirring and then a hologram of the senator’s ship appeared, about a foot long in length, right in front of Watto. The Toydarian studied it, scratching at the loose flesh around his neck as he did so.

“Mmm, not bad, not bad.”

“It’s in good order,” said Qui-Gon, “except for the parts we need.”

Watto nodded, gesturing vaguely with one hand. “But what would the boy ride? He smashed up my pod in the last race.”

Obi-Wan spared a glance over his shoulder; Anakin was grinning like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.

“It wasn’t _my_ fault,” the young mechanic replied. “Sebulba flashed me with his exhaust vents. I actually saved the pod––mostly.”

Watto hummed a laugh. “Ah, that you did. The boy is good, no doubts there.”

From the corner of his eye, Obi-Wan saw Anakin wink at him. He smiled and shook his head, turning to re-join the conversation.

“…I have acquired a pod in a game of chance,” Qui-Gon was saying, “the fastest ever built.”

Anakin’s words, Obi-Wan recalled. On their way to the junk shop, the boy had taken them down to a courtyard in the slave quarters where he kept his racer. Obi-Wan had never seen a pod up close before, and was a little taken aback that there wasn’t more to it than a little capsule for the pilot, and the two colossal engines at the front.

 _Where does a slave get the money to build this sort of thing anyway?_ he’d wanted to ask, but he remembered the way Anakin had looked at him the day before, eyes narrowed, his chin jutting out defiantly, and he thought better of it.

“Very impressive,” Qui-Gon commented, and Obi-Wan had wished he’d thought to say that instead. “You certainly have some skill, my young friend. How did you come by these parts?”

“Jawas, mostly,” Anakin had said, as he swept the remains of yesterday’s storm from the exhaust vents. “Those are Radon-Ulzer 620c turbines––managed to salvage them from Watto’s last pod. I modified them a little, improved the fuel injection to increase thrust. And these”––he’d patted the long yellow air scoops attached to the end of one of the engines––“give me optimal manoeuvrability, especially when I need to turn, and these energy binders help to…”

He’d gone on naming things and dusting off parts, until Obi-Wan realised he had stopped listening, and was simply watching curve of Anakin’s back as he leaned over the cockpit.

“Like what you see, Kenobi?”

“ _Excuse me?_ ”

“The pod,” Anakin replied serenely. “You know, she’s the fastest ever built.”

“The fastest ever built, eh?” Watto echoed, back in the shop. “I hope you didn’t kill anyone I know for it.” He paused, as if waiting for a laugh, but when none was forthcoming he frowned and carried on: “So––you supply the pod and the entry fee, I supply young Skywalker here, we split the winnings fifty-fifty.”

Obi-Wan scoffed. “If it’s going to be fifty-fifty, I suggest _you_ front the cash for the entry.”

His old master seemed to agree. “If we win, you keep all the winnings, minus the cost of the parts I need––if we lose, you keep my ship. Either way, you win.”

Only it wasn’t _his_ ship, Obi-Wan thought. Padme had made that much clear earlier when he’d managed to get through to her via R2.

“What if this plan fails, Kenobi?” she’d said, the crackle in the frequency lending an unfamiliar tremor to her voice. “We could be stuck here for a long time.”

“My lady,” Ahsoka had piped up, clearly excited about the prospect of a real live podrace, “a ship without a power supply won’t get us anywhere.”

In the humid cool of Watto’s shop, Obi-Wan looked at Anakin. He had strayed into the path of a sunbeam spilling in through the archway at the back, and was now fussing over R2 again, whilst Qui-Gon concluded the deal with Watto. The light outlined him in gold, and he remembered what he’d said to Padme earlier that morning:

“My padawan is right, my lady––and besides, there’s something about this boy.”

 

* * *

 

That afternoon found Anakin tinkering with the underside of his pod, while Obi-Wan sat on the wall opposite, enjoying the warmth of the sun on his face.

“Anakin, can I ask you something?”

“I don’t know,” came the voice from underneath the capsule, “can you?”

“ _Anakin_.”

He shuffled out on his back, grinning, with an oil smear on his cheek and a pair of chunky goggles perched on his forehead, mussing up his hair. “Go on then, what is it?”

“I can’t help but wonder––if you didn’t have to help us––what would you spend the prize money on?”

He shrugged one shoulder. “I wouldn’t be getting a cut of that money if I wasn’t working with you two. Watto always keeps what I win for himself.” He sighed. “I don’t know––I guess I’d go visit my mom.”

“Not the stars?”

Anakin looked up at the sky, squinting against the harsh daylight. “I don’t know. Maybe. Someday. But they’ll always be there, right? My mom won’t be.”

Space travel had become so ingrained in Obi-Wan’s day-to-day life, he had almost overlooked the fact that some people in the galaxy had never even left their home planets. It seemed so wrong that Anakin should be ranked among them. Everyone from pirates to politicians travelled the hyperspace routes, seeing the galaxy as nothing more than an arena for their own prowess. But not Anakin, Obi-Wan was sure of it. Someday he would slip into the perpetual ink of space as if it were a favourite cloak. The boy was star stuff at his very core.

“What about you, Kenobi?” Anakin asked.

“Oh, well, as a Jedi I…” He wasn’t sure what he wanted the end of that sentence to be.

“But say you weren’t a Jedi. Say you had nowhere else you had to get back to––no ship, no Coruscant. What would you spend the money on?”

Obi-Wan considered this a moment, and then, smiling gently, he said, “I think I’d take you to see the stars.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out flurgburgler.tumblr.com for art and me complaining a lot.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's 3:30am and I'm falling asleep as I type, so my most sincere apologies if this is riddled with typos and/or inaccurate podracing details. I'll proofread in the morning. For now I just wanted to post an update, because I meant to last week, but I'm so swamped with wedding stuff I'm not getting anything done.
> 
> Anyway. More adventures of sand boy…

The loud buzz of chatter in the main hanger of Mos Espa’s arena echoed throughout the vast building. The racers and their teams and supporters sounded to Anakin like a drove of agitated insects. Alien pilots and crews scuttled about, making last minute fixes to the dozen or so pods docked in waiting.

Anakin leaned against his pod, watching Watto in animated conversation with Qui-Gon on the far side of the hanger. Although he couldn’t hear them, he could sense Watto’s agitation, and he knew his master well enough to tell that the staggering flutter of his wings and the way he drifted slightly from side to side meant that he was uneasy. Qui-Gon looked inscrutably calm.

Obi-Wan was crouched by Anakin’s feet, leaning close to R2 and deep in conversation with his padawan via transmission.

“…and I still can’t believe you get to watch a real pod race while I’m stuck here in the middle of nowhere,” the young voice chirped through. “Are you sure I can’t come?”

“Ahsoka,” Obi-Wan replied, “your job is to protect the senator, and this is definitely no place for her.”

“What? You don’t think Padme and I could cut it on the mean streets of…wherever you are?”

Anakin smiled. “Snippy little one, isn’t she?”

“Who’s that?” the padawan piped up. “What did he call me?”

Obi-Wan glanced up at Anakin, eyebrows raised. “That is our champion.” He shook his head. “And it’s not a matter of my doubting your or the senator’s prowess, young one. There are too many dangers here, no need to put her ladyship at any unnecessary risk.”

After a disgruntled silence on Ahsoka’s end, Anakin ventured: “Maybe you can watch me race some other time.” After all, he could sympathise. Boredom in the desert tasted like salt and made your eyes dry; it was no way to be, young and stranded amongst the dunes.

“Hmm,” said Ahsoka wryly. “I’ll hold you to that, flyboy.”

But Anakin wasn’t really paying attention. On the other side of the hanger, Watto had stopped beside Sebulba and the Dug’s massive orange pod. The Toydarian peacocked a little and chuckled, but then the old Jedi, arms folded and head held high, said something that wiped the smirk off Watto’s face. Watto gestured eagerly, but when Qui-Gon did not respond, he reached into a pouch on his belt where Anakin knew he kept his chance cube.

Another bet? An unexpected rush of nerves made Anakin’s skin prickle, and instinctively he reached for the cigarette tucked behind his ear, sparking it up before he really had time to think.

“Don’t.” Obi-Wan got to his feet and plucked the offending item from between Anakin’s lips. “You’ll get all breathless before the race.”

“I might if you do that again,” Anakin replied, but he could hear anxiety fraying the edges of his voice.

“You’re tense; what’s the matter?” Obi-Wan placed a hand on Anakin’s arm. Anakin stared at it for a moment, and then at Obi-Wan, and had his eyes been quite so blue yesterday? Did he have those freckles on his cheekbones before, or was that the suns’ work?

Anakin thought he should probably try and smile, or at least look away, but he couldn’t quite get his body to comply with the orders his brain was giving. Fortunately the return of Qui-Gon and Watto put a stop to the childish staring.

“You won the small toss, outlander!” Watto exclaimed, trunk quivering. “But you won’t win the race, so it makes little difference.” As he hovered past Anakin he muttered, “Better put a stop to your friend’s betting, or I’ll end up owning him too.” Then he frowned. “You stink of smoke, Ani.” With that final pleasantry, he headed back towards Sebulba and was slowly obscured by the crowd.

Obi-Wan glanced at Qui-Gon. “What did he mean by that?”

The older Jedi waved him away idly. “I’ll tell you later.”

Anakin felt the hairs rise at the nape of his neck. He liked Qui-Gon, with his soft, low voice and his eyes like glass dulled by salt water; Anakin longed for the fatherliness in his gentle, constant optimism, but a real father––at least the one he’d always imagined for himself––wouldn’t keep things from him, and he certainly wouldn’t use him as leverage in a wager. For that was what he’d been doing––wasn’t it? Slinking away with Watto to the other side of the hall when they could so easily have discussed any business right there?

Anakin wished he had another cigarette; he was desperate for something to do with his hands so that nobody would notice them trembling. It was only when he glanced up and saw Obi-Wan staring at him that he realised he’d been clutching the Jedi’s sleeve. He let go at once, pretending all of a sudden to be very interested in the air scoops on his left engine. He thought he heard Obi-Wan chuckle, and he tried to keep his face turned away in case he was blushing. Which he knew he was.

 

* * *

 

The arena was carved right into the rocks of the Tatooine wastes. The mighty crescent amphitheatre could hold at least a hundred thousand spectators, and from the roar that erupted as the racers took their positions on the track, Anakin suspected every seat in the house had been filled. Small pockets of onlookers milled on the viewing platforms that loomed over the racetrack, whilst others crowded under colourful canopies, devouring the shade. Vendors wandered amongst the seats, hawking barbecued parts of various desert creatures, and up in the announcer’s box, Fode and Beed, the two-headed broadcaster, began their introductions.

Beed rattled on in Huttese, welcoming everyone to the stadium, remarking on the weather, emphasising the hazardousness of the Boonta Classic. Fode reeled off the names and home planets of the contestants in Galactic Basic.

“On the front line we have the reigning champion: Sebulba from Pixelito. By far the favourite today.”

A small pep band struck up a tune at the mention of Sebulba, and the Dug waved as his fans sent up a cheer.

“And a late entry––Anakin Skywalker, a local boy.”

Anakin leaned against his pod and waved lazily. Nobody was really here for him––except his new Jedi acquaintances, out of necessity––but that didn’t matter. The anxiety about Qui-Gon’s betting that had threatened to overcome him in the hangar had sloughed off him the moment he’d stepped out onto the track. With the sun soaking his skin and the thunder of the crowd in his ears, he felt bold, like he deserved to take up the space he did.

Before donning his gloves and goggles, he scraped his unruly hair back from his face and tied it up with a rubber band. He bent down to affix the long cable that attached the engines to the pod, when he noticed Sebulba sneaking along the side of the little craft.

“Just what are you up to?” Anakin hissed.

The Dug turned, his features narrowing as he grinned. “You won’t walk away from this one, slave.”

“I know. I’ll be carried away on the shoulders of my adoring fans.”

Before he could say anything more, Sebulba began to back away, and Anakin looked up to see the Jedi approaching from behind.

“Are you all set, Ani?” said Qui-Gon. “Remember, concentrate on the moment. Feel––don't think. Trust your instincts.”

“Thanks,” Anakin replied, because he wasn’t sure what else to say. No one had ever spoken to him like that before.

Qui-Gon nodded. “May the Force be with you.”

The Force. No one talked about that round here either, so Anakin found himself just smiling blankly until Qui-Gon turned to head towards their viewing platform. Obi-Wan, however, lingered.

“Don’t do anything reckless, Anakin.”

“Sure, okay, Kenobi. You want me to lose?”

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. “Just…be safe.”

“Of course.” Anakin smirked, resting his hands on his hips. “I just didn’t know you cared so much.”

Obi-Wan reached out and tucked a loose wave of hair behind Anakin’s ear. “You know, _I_ wasn’t the one trying to hold your hand in the hangar earlier.”

It could have just been the two of them there, for all Anakin cared. The world seemed a lot smaller all of a sudden, and the sounds of the arena, in all its dusty vastness, faded into the periphery. The Jedi’s fingers were unusually cool as they brushed against his ear, and then very briefly (too briefly for Anakin to tell if it had been intentional) against his cheekbone.

When Jabba the Hutt’s croaky voice boomed from on high: “Let the challenge begin!” Anakin let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. Obi-Wan smiled––a little sadly, it seemed––and turned to go. It was the excitement at the prospect of the race, Anakin insisted, as he felt his heart in the back of his throat, and before he could stop himself he was saying words he’d never even put together––

“Kiss me.”

“What?”

“For luck,” he added lamely, and hoped he’d added it fast enough.

Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes, but his smile was less forlorn this time. “You don’t need luck, Anakin.”

 _Kiss me anyway then_ , he wanted to say, but he clamped his mouth shut and the words crashed harmlessly against his teeth.

Around them the pilots were strapping themselves into their racers. Switches were flipped, and powerful, brightly coloured energy binders shot between the engines.

“You’d better get ready,” Obi-Wan said.

Anakin sighed and pulled his goggles down over his eyes. With a mock salute in Obi-Wan’s direction, he clambered into his pod. The incredible rumble of high-powered engines ignited echoes throughout the arena, torqueing as the pilots gunned them.

“Start your engines,” Fode declared.

The earth-pounding growl of the machines felt as though it were tearing through Anakin’s eardrums, but he relaxed into it, buoyed by the sense of the familiar. And yet, when he glanced to the side, there was Obi-Wan, still standing on the starting grid, mouthing something inaudible amid the cacophony of engines.

Anakin leaned over the edge of the pod. “What?” he called.

Obi-Wan cupped his hands to his mouth and called back. “I said: ask me again, when you win the race.”

The starting gong sounded before he had time to reply. At the centre of a bridge over the track, a great green light flashed. The podracers shot forward with high-pitched screams, Anakin among them, leaving the arena––and Obi-Wan––behind in a cloud of dust.

 

* * *

 

The pods flew across the desert, barely casting a shadow in the midday heat. As a late entry, Anakin had been positioned near the rear of the starting grid, but now he past the back-end stragglers with ease. One of the drivers cut him off as he tried to pass by; as they approached the first cliff drop-off, Anakin reduced his speed and held back, then gunned it as the other racer went over the cliff. He sailed right over the obtuse driver and sped away, leaving only the echo of his laughter in the canyon walls.

Something solid ricocheted off the back Anakin’s pod. He chanced a look up to the top of the canyon, and saw a few Tusken Raiders perched above the racecourse, their rifles aimed at the pods below. Beed hadn’t been wrong: the Boonta race was as hazardous as they came.

He powered around corners, over hillocks and cliffs, passing other racers left and right. As he weaved his way through a dense cluster of them, they flew over a dune sea, kicking up dust. His pod shook violently as it went over a jump, but behind him a racer caught one of his engines in the sand, and the whole thing careened and exploded. Anakin caught some of the heat of the fire blown back towards his face, but he ignored it and sped on.

“It looks like Skywalker’s moving up through the field,” Fode announced, as Anakin tore through the arena and entered the second lap. He savoured the sound of cheering just for a moment.

“Sixth place, not bad,” Beed agreed in Huttese.

Up ahead, Anakin could see another racer, Terter, closing in on Sebulba’s lead. He watched with disgust as the Dug broke off a small part of his own pod and hurled it back into one of Terter’s engines, causing the poor driver to veer backwards into Anakin, unhooking one of the engine straps on Anakin’s pod in the process. The little craft whipped about wildly as Anakin tried to reach for the loose cable, stretching out as far as he could without losing control of the pod. Up in front, Sebulba cut into the engine of another racer with his side exhaust, causing the unfortunate creature to crash in a dust cloud. Still grappling for his cable, Anakin clipped the downed pod with one of his engines, but the jolt knocked him close enough to reach for the strap and lock it back down. He was away again.

“At the start of the third and final lap, Sebulba is in the lead, closely followed by Skywalker…”

Racing against the Dug, they ran neck and neck over the rough terrain. Sebulba tried to utilise his side exhaust port once again, and would have cut through Anakin’s engine, had Anakin not swerved onto the service ramp in time. As they rounded a tight corner, he dove to the inside of the track and took the lead, but Sebulba crowded him from behind, driving him hard through the tough canyon turns.

He was ahead, for now, but something was wrong. One of the parts on the right engine was beginning to shake loose. He switched over to auxiliary power mode, but in the mere seconds he lost, Sebulba was able to overtake him, laughing as he went. Anakin tried to get around him, but the Dug blocked him at every turn.

Sebulba had dislodged the loose part on his engine, he was sure of it. That was probably what he’d been doing when Anakin had caught him sneaking around his pod. Paid off by Watto, perhaps? Or just too proud to risk losing to a slave.

His knuckles ached, locked immobile around the accelerators, and he could feel sand and grit sticking to the sweat on his face. His heart pounded in time to the thrum of his engines. He was so close, so close now.

At last he feigned a move into the inside of the track again, then tried to speed around Sebulba on the outside, but Sebulba swerved towards Anakin and banged into his pod, hooking their steering rods together.

“They’re neck and neck…they’re side by side…they’re shoulder to shoulder…”

As they headed into the final stretch, Anakin tried to pull away from Sebulba and release the steering rods, but the strain was too much, and Anakin’s rod suddenly snapped, sending his pod spinning violently to one side. The sudden release of tension, however, sent Sebulba headfirst into the wall of the canyon. One engine exploded, and then the other. The Dug came skidding through the fireballs, blackened but seemingly unhurt. He slid to a smoking stop, just as Anakin sailed overhead.

“It’s Skywalker!”

The cheering––Anakin wriggled out of his helmet just so he could listen to the cheering. He was clammy and exhausted and filthy, but as he flew over the finish line the crowd screamed for him anyway. Relief washed over him like cold water, and he basked in it as he made a quick victory lap of the stadium, relishing the feel of the wind in his hair, like cool fingers…

The spectators mobbed him when he landed. It seemed Qui-Gon hadn’t been the only one to benefit from betting on him this time, and he was hoisted into the air by several of his sturdier new fans, who chanted his name and laughed and embraced one another over and over, as if somehow they deserved some of the congratulations.

He caught Qui-Gon in a bear hug, and for a moment the old Jedi hugged him back, saying gently: “Well done, Ani. The Force was with you.” R2-D2 bumped up against his leg, whistling happily as Anakin patted him on the head. The crowd cheered him and blessed him and promised him numerous rounds on them at the cantina later, but his mind was tumbling over itself, still racing towards the finish line. He took Obi-Wan by the arm and pulled him away from the throng, towards the shaded canopies, now empty, where the heat felt less like persistent hands, and Anakin knew he was covered in dirt and he was breathing like a drowning man, but he pressed Obi-Wan up against the wall anyway and kissed him hard on the mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As per, check out flurgburgler.tumblr.com for art and stuff.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this update took a billion years, I’ve been having trouble getting into the writing groove since I moved. I think that probably shows in the quality of this chapter, but I hate leaving so much time between updates so…here we go!
> 
> As always, thank you so much to all of you who've left kudos and comments. You make me feel alive.

The cantina was warm and clammy like the inside of a mouth. Revellers drank and laughed and smoked under the muted yellow lights, and a band played raucously in the corner, staggering about drunkenly as they garbled through the lyrics in Huttese. When R2 chirped that he was receiving a transmission from the senator’s cruiser, Obi-Wan was only too glad of the excuse to retreat to the veranda and the cool of the desert evening.

He was relieved to hear Qui-Gon’s voice coming through, informing Obi-Wan that he had safely delivered the parts needed to repair the craft, and that they were being fitted as he spoke.

“Good,” Obi-Wan replied. “Will you be returning to Mos Espa tonight?” Even with the eopies the old Jedi had borrowed for transportation, crossing the desert would still be an arduous task.

“No, I think not,” said Qui-Gon. “The senator is curious about the planet, and about our business here. I will serve her best by remaining with her for now.”

“Then I feel rather superfluous here, Master.”

“I doubt our young friend thinks so.” Obi-Wan thought he could hear a smile in his old teacher’s voice, but when the Jedi spoke again, it seemed to have faded already. “Obi-Wan––keep an eye on Anakin tonight. Let him celebrate, he deserves it. But in the morning I want you to bring him with you when you leave town to re-join us.”

It was true then. When they had been perched in their observation box, watching Anakin sail past in his victory lap, Qui-Gon had hinted at a second deal with Watto. “Our friend is strong with the Force,” he’d said, as if by way of an explanation. “Our meeting was not a coincidence. Nothing happens by accident.”

Out on the cantina veranda, a chill desert breeze made Obi-Wan shiver. When he did not respond, Qui-Gon said:

“You disagree with my decision to free the boy?”

Obi-Wan sighed. It was the method rather than the action that he disagreed with. Anakin was a human being, not chattel to be bartered with; if they treated him as such then they were no better than the slavers who’d taken advantage of him all his life. And besides, the poor boy wanted to see his mother, not be shot half way across the galaxy on the off chance that he might be special.

Of course, Anakin _was_ special. He had warm hands, and he looked down at his feet when he smiled, and he had so much energy one imagined that must be how he powered his racer, and––

"Be mindful of your feelings, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon’s voice intruded. “You’ve become remarkably attached to that boy in such a short stretch of time.”

Obi-Wan scoffed. “Have I?”

“Be careful, my friend. Remember the commitments you have made.”

Ah yes, _commitments_. The code. The rigour that had structured and nurtured his life ever since he was a boy––and yet it had all seemed so very far away when he’d stood in the shade of the Mos Espa arena with his back up against the wall and Anakin’s fingers in his hair. He had felt the heat of the sun permeating through the concrete, and the heat of the body pressed up against him as Anakin kissed him for what had seemed like years. And yet… If it weren’t for the code, he’d be kissing him still, but Qui-Gon was right: nothing happened by accident. If Anakin was some kind of test then it was his duty as a Jedi not to be led astray––wasn’t it? Especially if Anakin was coming with them to Coruscant.

_Oh, how did this become such a mess?_

“I had better be getting back to the party,” Obi-Wan said, sparing a glance back at the cantina. He could hear music drifting out from the bar into the street, mingled with the sound of laughter and cups clinking. Somewhere in there was Anakin’s laughter, and he wanted to hear it again. He wasn’t sure how often he’d have the privilege once he told him about Qui-Gon’s plans. “Keep an eye on Ahsoka for me.”

“Obi-Wan,” said Qui-Gon suddenly, “it was the only way. It was the only way to free him.”

“I defer to your judgement, Master,” Obi-Wan replied, “as always.”

When the transmission had ended, he stood on the veranda a moment longer, soaking up the last light of the binary sunset as it streaked the horizon with mauve and orange. Two days he’d been here, and already this place, this strange little backwater, felt so different. It was no more civilised than when he’d arrived, but somehow that felt less important to him now. He smiled half-heartedly at R2, and made to head back inside, when something caught his eye––a woman approaching the cantina, her oddly familiar features burdened by a look of great trepidation. She kept glancing from side to side, as if afraid that someone was following her, but when she saw Obi-Wan watching she marched straight up to him.

“Outlander.” Her voice was whispery and gentle, but firm––a mother’s voice, he thought. “Is this where they’re celebrating the Boonta race?”

Obi-Wan nodded. “Looking for someone?”

“My son,” she replied, casting another cautious look behind her. “Is Anakin Skywalker inside?”

Obi-Wan smiled; he wondered how he hadn’t seen it before. They had the same bearing––proud, but wary, as if they walked on their toes, ready to take off running at any given minute.

The Jedi extended his arm. “I can escort you, madam, if you’ll allow.”

She hesitated a moment longer, and then hopped up onto the veranda to take Obi-Wan’s arm. He felt lucky to be trusted with her slight weight against him, and offered her a reassuring smile, but she remained tense until they were well inside the cantina.

“There you are!” Anakin had been sprawled on his back on a crowded table, while a girl fed him dates out of her hand, but when he saw Obi-Wan he leapt up at once. “I was starting to think you were avoiding me.”

He teetered on intoxicated limbs, stumbling slightly as he tried to balance himself and make his way through the packed room.

“ _Anakin_ ––what have you been drinking?”

“Whatever they’ve been giving me. Alcohol, I hope!” He threw his arms around Obi-Wan’s neck. He didn’t seem to have noticed his mother.

“You weren’t this drunk the last time I saw you.”

“I got bored without you.” Anakin grinned lazily. “And here I was hoping you’d left that stuffy-Jedi-master persona at the door.”

He leaned in as if to kiss him again, and Obi-Wan was suddenly torn between not wanting to disregard the Jedi code twice in one day, and having no wish to embarrass Anakin in front of his mother. But it was then that she cut in, laughing,

“Anakin Skywalker––Jedi? What have you gotten yourself mixed up in this time?”

Anakin let go of Obi-Wan at once and took a wavering step back, looking his mother up and down, and then smothering her in a hug that lifted her off her feet.

“Mom, you’re here!”

“Of course I’m here,” she said once he’d set her down again. She reached up and pushed his wild hair from his face. “My son’s big race. When I heard you were entering the Boonta Classic I knew I had to see you.”

“Mom, you must have been travelling all day––Cliegg needs your help with the harvest––and you know it’s dangerous for you to come back here, you could have been recognised and recaptured…” Anakin carried on listing reasons for her not to have returned until he ran out of breath, and his mother simply put her arms around him and held him, smiling contently. The touching scene was juxtaposed against the frivolity of the bar, and Obi-Wan felt as though he were intruding. But before he could slip away, Anakin seemed to come to life again.

“Mom, look!” He reached into the pouch on his belt and pulled out a fistful of coins. “Master Jinn sold the pod, look at all the money we made.”

His mother’s eyes lit up. “That’s wonderful, Ani.” She turned her smile on Obi-Wan. “And is this Master Jinn?”

“Oh!” Anakin staggered back a little, grinning. “I haven’t even introduced you. Mom, this is Master Kenobi––a very serious Jedi.” He winked at Obi-Wan. “And this––this is the best person in the entire galaxy, Shmi Skywalker. Or Shmi Lars, I should say.”

Shmi nodded to Obi-Wan. “I am grateful for your support of my son, Master Jedi. My husband and I do what we can for him when we’re able, but that money will be a great help to him.”

“Actually,” Obi-Wan began, but he realised he had no idea how to finish. He had to tell Anakin about Qui-Gon's deal at some point, but it seemed unkind to hit him with such life-changing news in front of his mother. That said, if Anakin were going to come with him at all, he would want the chance to say goodbye to Shmi, surely. Maybe now was as good a time as any.

Obi-Wan took a deep breath. “Actually, Anakin has been freed.”

Anakin looked as if the Jedi had slapped him across the face. “What?” he said quietly.

“You’re no longer a slave,” Obi-Wan added, as if that would somehow make things clearer.

Anakin turned and gripped his mother by the shoulders. “Mom, did you hear that?”

Shmi stood up on her toes and kissed her son on the cheek. “Now you can make your dreams come true.”

“Drinks!” Anakin was practically bouncing. “We need a drink to celebrate! And you”––he pointed dramatically at Obi-Wan––“you definitely need a drink.” And he bounded away in the direction of the bar before either of them could stop him.

For a moment Obi-Wan was tempted to leave it at that. After all, Anakin would remain free whether he came with him to Coruscant or not. He could stand to disappoint Qui-Gon if it meant leaving Anakin so blissfully happy. For a moment, _for a moment_ he was on the brink of not saying anything else at all, but then Shmi spoke up.

“Are you going to take him with you?” she asked.

“Why would you think that?” He hoped he didn’t sound too defensive.

“Ani has…abilities.” She screwed up her face as if she were trying to make sense of it even as she said so. “I thought the Jedi could pick up on things like that. Aren’t you going to take him with you to the capital, to train him?”

Obi-Wan sighed. He wished he had something else, anything else to say. To take her only son from her when they’d only just been reunited––he hated himself for it. But in the end, all he said was: “Our meeting was not a coincidence. Everything happens for a reason.”

Shmi nodded. “When will you tell him?”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“He trusts you, Master Kenobi. I don’t need to have Jedi senses to know that. If my son is to go with you, I want to know he’s with someone worthy of that trust. Is he?”

“Anakin can trust me,” Obi-Wan replied. “I’ll not let any harm come to him, madam.” That, at least, was true. But as he thought back to that afternoon in the arena, and how Anakin had felt like a moment of oxygen after running through smoke, and how he had pressed back against his lips like he wanted to bruise him, like he wanted to knock out his teeth, to devour him before Anakin could do so first––as he thought back to that, he wondered if he had any right to make such a promise when he clearly couldn’t even trust himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on tumblr @flurgburgler for art and stuff.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sand boy finally leaves the sand.

Anakin felt far away from the buzz of the cantina, and his mother’s warmth next to him, and sound of Obi-Wan’s voice from across the table. The Jedi and his mother spoke to each other for what seemed like a good long while, and Anakin felt so disconnected he couldn’t tell if he was included in the conversation or not. At some point in the evening, Shmi told him she was tired, and that she would spend the night in the little house that they had once shared together. He wanted to walk back with her, but she insisted he stayed and enjoyed his victory celebration. On any other day he might have argued with her, but he felt so buoyed by the fact that she was even here at all, he couldn’t seem to muster the energy. He wrapped himself up in the thought that she would be waiting for him when he got home, the way she had when he was just a child.

“I just… I just love her,” Anakin mumbled, as he and Obi-Wan stood on the veranda watching as the night slowly absorbed the outline of Shmi. He rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand, trying to wake up. “Do you understand?”

When he glanced at Obi-Wan the Jedi seemed deflated. “No,” he said quietly. “I do not.”

Anakin rummaged in the pouches on his belt until he found a cigarette. He grinned sleepily at Obi-Wan as he sparked it up. He didn’t feel like going home yet, but the charms of the cantina had worn off with the worst of his drunken stupor.

“Come walk with me,” he said.

The Jedi raised an eyebrow, gesturing to the sand-choked alleyways that peeled off from the cantina. “Round here?”

“It’s not such a bad neighbourhood.”

“I don’t believe that for a moment.”

Anakin looped his arm around Obi-Wan’s and began to lead him down the steps. “Then _I’ll_ protect you. Come on.”

The streets were mostly empty, and they were followed only by the music and laughter of the cantina, which grew dimmer the further they went. A gentle wind skimmed over the crests of the dunes and skirted around the hovels and the junk shops to disperse the smoke from Anakin’s cigarette. Arm in arm in silence they weaved their way slowly through the maze of Mos Espa, flanked by the orange glow of lamplight from the windows of the little houses.

Eventually they found themselves on the edge of the town, where the buildings were little more than sandy huts, and the only enduring structures were the moisture vaporators. There were no more footprints here, and Anakin came to a halt. The undulating desert looked grey in the moonlight as it rolled away before them without end. Hanging in the black sky above, the stars blinked the promise of somewhere else, and at last Anakin stubbed out his cigarette and said:

“Something’s about to happen, isn’t it?”

Obi-Wan was staring out into the night, not looking at him. “What makes you say that?”

“I can sense it.” He let go of Obi-Wan’s arm and stood back. “You’re leaving in the morning, and there’s something you don’t want to tell me.”

“You’re very intuitive.”

Anakin thought he sounded sad. “I’ll miss you,” he said, although he felt like it was more of a suggestion.

“Anakin.” Obi-Wan turned and placed a hand on his arm, as if he was worried Anakin might try to leave. “Yesterday––do you remember when I said I’d take you to see the stars?”

“Sure.”

“Do you trust me?”

Anakin glanced back at sleeping Mos Espa behind them. This wasn’t the sort of place where people _trusted_ one another. Perhaps it was for the best the Jedi were leaving, he thought solemnly; they were nice, but not very street-smart. They wouldn’t last long here.

“You’re no longer a slave, Anakin,” Obi-Wan went on, apparently no longer requiring an answer to his previous question. “You’re not tied to this planet anymore.” He took hold of Anakin’s hand suddenly. “I’m leaving at dawn. Come with me.”

Anakin laughed and pulled his hand away. “You’re kidding. You––you don’t even know me.”

“I know you’re important. Come with me to Corsucant, you have a whole new life waiting for you there.”

“I…”Anakin shook his head. “Look, I appreciate everything you and Master Jinn have done for me, but––me? Go the capital? What would I even do there, just follow you around smoking cigarettes all day?”

“Anakin, you have abilities that you don’t yet understand. Master Qui-Gon has expressed a wish to train you in the ways of the Force.” Obi-Wan sighed. “And you know, you can always _stop_ smoking.”

Anakin narrowed his eyes, squinting at Obi-Wan through the gloom. “You think I could become a Jedi?”

Obi-Wan relaxed his stance a little. “I think you could do anything if you put your mind to it.”

Anakin ran a hand through his hair, flinching at the feeling of grit and grease under his fingers. He hadn’t had time to shower after the race, before everyone had carried him off to the cantina to ply him with drinks. It hadn’t mattered so much then––he was caught up in the thrill of his victory, and of stealing kisses, pressed up against the wall in the heat––but now he felt muggy and tired. He wanted nothing more than to splash some water on his face and to go home to his mother––

“What about my mom?” he asked abruptly.

Obi-Wan looked past him, into the darkness. “She has a life here, Anakin.”

 _So do I_ , he thought. It was spare parts and engine oil and blisters and the kiss of the sun on his forehead, and it may not have seemed like much of a life to Obi-Wan Kenobi, but it was all Anakin had.

“I don’t know,” he said at last, kicking sand over the smouldering stub of his cigarette. “I need to think about it.”

Obi-Wan nodded. “I understand.”

Anakin began to walk back towards town. Sleep was weighing on his legs, making every step drag in the sand. As confused as he was, he wished Obi-Wan would walk home with him. He wished he’d follow him to his room and kiss him until the suns rose, and they could just while away the day there until everything stopped happening so fast and he could make up his mind in his own damn time. But things had been said that couldn’t be taken back: the choice was there before him now, and if he didn’t take it, it would leave in the morning with his Jedi.

As he reached the moisture vaporators, Anakin turned and looked back at Obi-Wan. The Jedi was still standing there, but he had drawn up his hood and his face was concealed. Anakin wondered if he was watching him walk away, and he said: “You know, for future reference, you’d get a lot further if you sounded like you actually _wanted_ me to come with you, not just like you were reeling off what your old teacher told you to say.” But he spoke so quietly he thought only the desert must have heard him.

 

* * *

 

“He wants to train you as a _Jedi?_ ”

Shmi put down the book she’d been reading and sat bolt upright. The yellow light from her bedside lamp picked out the grey hairs at her temples and the wrinkles beginning to form at the edges of her eyes, and Anakin felt so suddenly miserable. His mother, who had seemed to him as a child to have always been the same age, was old now. He had missed out on so much of her life. He had felt, childishly, that maybe she would just stay the same without him, transfixed and preserved in time until he saw her again. But she’d just gone on _being_ without him.

“Ani,” she said, snapping him back to the present, “what are you going to do?”

Anakin sat down heavily beside her on the bed and let his head sink into his hands. “I don’t know, mom. I don’t want things to change.”

“Oh Ani.” He felt her weathered touch, warm and soothing on his back. “But you can’t stop change, any more than you can stop the suns from setting.”

“Can’t you come––” he began to say, but stopped himself before he could finish.

“Son, my place is here. My future is here.” She sighed. “You are more than this place, Ani. Everything is temporary in the desert. It’s time for you to let go.”

He sat up and clasped her hands tightly. “Will I ever see you again?”

“What does your heart tell you?”

“I hope so…yes…I guess.”

Shmi smiled. “Then we will see each other again.” Suddenly she threw her arms around him, pressing her worn little body close to his. “Be brave, Ani,” she whispered, and he could hear the tears in her voice. “Be brave, and don’t look back…don’t look back.”

 

* * *

 

Dawn found Anakin curled up in the courtyard behind the house, clutching a satchel with all the things he owned crammed inside. He watched the binary streaking orange and yellow across the horizon, as the sunrise began to banish the night from the sky. Everything’s temporary in the desert, he thought.

He stood up and stretched, and his limbs felt stiff and cold from sitting out all night, but he hadn’t dared go back inside after saying goodbye to his mother, in case he burst into tears.

“There you are.”

He looked up at the sound of Obi-Wan’s voice, and saw the Jedi, still hooded, standing by the back door.

“You weren’t inside, I thought perhaps you didn’t come home.”

Anakin frowned. “You don’t seem very concerned about that. I thought you said this was a bad neighbourhood.”

“And I thought you said you could look after yourself.”

Anakin made his way towards him, trying to ignore the ache in his bones. He brandished his satchel in Obi-Wan’s face. “Well, here I am, like you said.”

The Jedi’s brow furrowed. “Anakin, I heard what you said last night as you were leaving.”

“Oh yes?”

“You were right.” He bit down on his lip, like perhaps he didn’t really want to be saying this, but Anakin wouldn’t let it go so easily.

“I was right, _and?_ ”

“Master Qui-Gon was a good teacher, you must understand that. He’ll be a good teacher to you too. I––I am very fond of him, but I am no longer his pupil, and it would serve me well to remember that.” He lowered his eyes. “I am my own man, Anakin, and I say I want you to come with me.”

“Well”––Anakin shuffled from one foot to the other, still trying to shake the stiffness out of his legs––“that was pretty good, as apologies go. I guess I can come, since I’m already packed.”

Obi-Wan smiled, and there was something rogue-ish and not at all Jedi-like about it that made Anakin grin back.

“Come on, Kenobi,” he said, “or do you want to be walking in the midday heat?”

As the twin suns spilled over the horizon, the Jedi and the young mechanic set out into the dunes, leaving the first footprints of the day. As Obi-Wan turned to spare one last glance at Mos Espa, Anakin caught his face in his hands, saying: “Don’t look back”, and kissing him, short and sweet, like rainfall in the desert.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Swing by flurgburgler.tumblr.com for art and stuff.
> 
> Also, @tikkunthisfuckingolam the line you enquired about was originally intended to appear in the scene where Anakin's working on his podracer, but instead Obi-Wan asks him about some stars instead.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, your comments are always lovely and I adore you all so much, I really do <3
> 
> I was not 100% sober when writing half of this so if it's…not good? then I apologise most sincerely. Anyway, catch ya later Tatooine.

The journey back across the Dune Sea felt only half the length with Anakin for company. Obi-Wan recalled the day they’d first met, and how Anakin had seemed like a natural feature of the landscape. It seemed all the more pertinent now, as he stood tall on the crest of a dune, looking for all the world like a conqueror, with the suns soaking his skin and the wind picking up his hair like a golden banner.

“This way,” Anakin called, gesturing to the east.

“Are you sure?” replied Obi-Wan, climbing the slope to join him, but sure enough, there was the senator’s craft, a distant wink in the sunlight.

The twin suns were at their zenith by the time they neared the ship. The hot air felt too thick to breathe, and the prickling on the back of his neck told Obi-Wan that his skin was beginning to burn. With renewed vigour, he willed his tired feet onwards, but Anakin began to lag. When Obi-Wan slowed and turned, he saw that the boy had stopped altogether, and was looking over his shoulder at the bright expanse of desert behind.

“Something the matter?”

Anakin’s whole frame sagged a little. “It’s just…I kept telling myself not to look back, imagining that I’d see it still there behind me––home, I mean. But now it’s so far away. Might as well be on Coruscant already.”

“Would that we were. For one thing, it’s not so hot.”

Anakin shot him a weary smile. “Are you this much fun on Corsucant?”

“Not at all. I’m a terrible bore, just ask my padawan.” Obi-Wan extended a hand to him. “Come. It’s only natural to be afraid, but––what was it you said earlier, about things being temporary in the desert? Leave your fear behind here.”

Anakin nodded, but he approached so hesitantly, Obi-Wan felt as if he were trying to tame a wild animal. When at last he took Obi-Wan’s hand, he stared at it pointedly and said: “I guess I’d better leave fear here for good, if I’m to become a Jedi.”

Obi-Wan straightened up. “No one lives entirely without fear, Anakin. Not even the Jedi.” _Don’t let them change you too much_.

 

* * *

 

Ahsoka was sitting on the boarding ramp in the relative shade of the starship when Obi-Wan and Anakin approached. Her eyes were closed against the harsh midday light, and she seemed occupied with her own thoughts.

“Deep in meditation, are we, young one?” declared Obi-Wan, coming to stand directly in front of her.

The little togruta opened one eye and peered up at him, breaking out into a grin. “You’re blocking my sun, Master.”

Obi-Wan smiled back. It had barely been three days, but he hadn’t realised how much he’d missed her until now.

“And this must be our ace racer,” she said, looking over his shoulder at Anakin standing awkwardly in the shadow of the ship. “How’s it going, flyboy?”

“So you’re the snippy little voice from the transmission.” Anakin nodded. “It’s good to put a face to a name, Snips.”

“Snips?” Ahsoka screwed up her face.

“I think it suits you,” said Obi-Wan, clapping her on the back as he ascended the ramp. “Come along, both of you. I expect we’re wanted inside.”

“Finally,” Ahsoka groaned, falling in step behind him. “I’ve been ready to leave this dust bowl since before we even landed. No offense, ace,” she added, glancing back at Anakin as he hurried to catch up with them. She leaned forward and whispered to Obi-Wan: “He’s not so bad to look at, either. I wonder what the senator will make of him.”

“I’m sure she’ll be entirely professional,” Obi-Wan replied, though he felt like he was talking to himself rather than his padawan.

They found Qui-Gon waiting for them in the ship’s main room, along with Captain Panaka and the senator herself. Amidala was seated in one of the high-backed chairs, eating slices of pear, while one of her handmaids fanned her with an extravagantly large feather. Anakin stumbled into a bow at first sight. Obi-Wan’s fingers twitched guiltily, trying to supress the urge to help the poor boy to his feet. He wished he’d had the foresight to warn him that this wasn’t necessary. Padme emitted a startled “oh”, and then covered her mouth with her hand as if she wished she could take it back. Ahsoka shot Obi-Wan a quizzical look. But Qui-Gon stepped forwards and planted himself by Anakin’s side protectively.

“My lady,” he said, bowing his own head to the senator, “allow me to introduce Anakin Skywalker, the young man responsible for helping us acquire the parts we so desperately needed.”

“Actually he acquired them rather single-handedly,” Obi-Wan added. “Credit where credit’s due, don’t you think?” he said when Qui-Gon frowned at him.

Padme looked from one to the other, before leaning down and whispering loudly to Anakin. “The Jedi seem very impressed with you.” She sat up, motioning for Anakin to rise too. “We’re _all_ very impressed, aren’t we Ahsoka?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You have our gratitude,” the senator continued earnestly. “If there’s anything we can do to repay you, don’t hesitate to ask it of us.” She gestured to the bowl of pear slices beside her. “Are you hungry? Please, eat.”

Obi-Wan’s heart could have broken for Anakin then, as he watched the young man in his desert-stained tunic bite his lip and look away from Amidala’s opulence, down at his scuffed boots instead.

“I…don’t know what that is, my lady.”

“Oh. I see.” Padme looked painfully sorry for him.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan interjected loudly­­––his voice sounding even louder amid the stunted silence, “come along, Ahsoka and I will show you to your cabin.” Composing himself, he addressed the senator: “If you’ll excuse us, my lady. We’ve had a long morning.”

Padme nodded. “Of course, Master Kenobi.”

Ahsoka was already ushering Anakin along the corridor with a comforting hand on his back. Obi-Wan followed, but kept a short distance. He wished that could be him instead of his padawan, but…not here, not now. He’d been so concerned about how Anakin would feel leaving Tatooine, he’d scarcely thought about what he was leaving behind. Mos Espa had been grimy and rusted, but there had been freedom there too, of a kind. After all, he couldn’t go letting pretty strangers press him up against the wall and kiss him on Coruscant. He was a Jedi in the capital. On Tatooine he’d simply felt like a man.

“It’ll be fine,” Ahsoka was saying softly, “it was just a pear. It’s not a big deal.”

Anakin was hunched over, leaning close to the young padawan. “I feel like an idiot. She’s––she’s an _angel_ , and I’m just…”

Ahsoka shook her head. “She’s a politician. She meets plenty of weird people all the time––not that I’m saying you’re weird.”

“If I can’t even talk to one senator, how am I supposed to handle a whole planet of them? Who am I kidding?”

Ahsoka came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the corridor, forcing Anakin to stop too, and Obi-Wan to nearly walk into them.

“Look, Skyguy, or whatever your name is,” she said, “I’ve lived in the capital most of my life, I’ve seen weird, and trust me, you’re not it. It’s just culture shock. You’re scrappy––you have to be, coming from this wasteland, right? You’ve got this. You just need to take it one step at a time.”

For a moment Anakin just stared at her, taken aback, but then his features softened, and that lazy smile that Obi-Wan had become so fond of the last few days returned.

“I guess I can work on it,” he said. “Thanks Snips.”

Ahsoka was already marching on without them when she called back: “Work on giving me a better nickname while you’re at it.”

 

* * *

 

A sense of evening was settling over the ship. Obi-Wan had been reluctant to leave Anakin by himself so soon after their return, but Padme had requested the Jedi’s presence, and so he had left him in the capable company of Ahsoka.

Obi-Wan now sat with Qui-Gon and the senator in the main room. Occasionally a crewmember or handmaid would scurry by, but for the most part they were alone––a moment of solitude they had waited for since fleeing Naboo.

“Do we have any idea who was behind the attack?” Padme asked. She held herself with her usual poise, but exhaustion was dragging at her vowels. Obi-Wan sensed she hadn’t slept a great deal since their escape.

Not that he’d been sleeping especially smoothly either, but for wholly different reasons. Anakin was equal parts lovely and vexing, but he'd at least kept Obi-Wan from thinking about what had happened on Naboo.

_The hangar, the welcoming dignitaries… A blinding flash, and a ringing in his ears as he was hurled to the ground… Qui-Gon throwing himself on top of Ahsoka to shield her from the blast… Fire, fire… The bodies on the ground as the smoke cleared… Padme bending over her decoy, now smoking and motionless, still clutching her hand… The tears she wiped away with her sleeve that they pretended not to see as they rushed her to the ship… The crack of blaster fire that chased them from the scene and well beyond the atmosphere, into the dead silence of space…_

“Our intelligence originally pointed to disgruntled spice miners on the moons of Naboo,” Qui-Gon answered, bringing Obi-Wan back to the present. “That is why we were originally sent to Theed, after all.”

“And I’m grateful you were there, Master Jinn, but…” The young senator’s brow creased. “I don’t wish to disagree, but I think Count Dooku was behind it.”

Qui-Gon looked ruffled. “You know, my lady, Count Dooku was once a Jedi. He wouldn’t assassinate anyone, it’s not in his character.”

“I understand your loyalty to your former master, but––”

“My lady,” Obi-Wan cut in quickly. “Forgive me, but Count Dooku is a political idealist, not a murderer.”

His old teacher nodded appreciatively, but his attention was no longer on the conversation at hand. Qui-Gon lived so much in his own head these days, only making occasional sentient appearances, the rest of the time merely drifting from one duty to another. Obi-Wan wondered how much Dooku’s betrayal had been a part of that, or if Qui-Gon was simply growing old, passing on from this state of being into whatever lay beyond. Master Yoda had said many times that Qui-Gon had a very unique relationship with the Force. Perhaps he was simply slipping away into it––someplace where the troubles of this life would no longer burden him.

Obi-Wan sighed. “My lady, I think we could all benefit from a proper night’s rest. We can discuss the matter further when we reach Coruscant tomorrow. The Jedi can arrange a security detail for you, if necessary.”

Padme nodded wearily. “Very well, Master Kenobi. We shall reconvene tomorrow.”

“Very good, my lady.” He rose as she did, and waited until she had departed before placing a hand on Qui-Gon’s shoulder and shaking him gently. “Master. You should sleep.”

The old Jedi reached up and placed his own calloused hand over Obi-Wan’s. “You go ahead, my friend. I think I shall meditate a while.”

Obi-Wan knew there was little point in arguing, and he made to leave. “By the way,” he said, pausing in the doorway, “I never thanked you properly––for saving Ahsoka back on Naboo. You could have got yourself killed.”

Qui-Gon shrugged, and there was something strangely immense about the motion, like an ancient tree being uprooted from the earth. “Your padawan has an important part to play in the will of the Force.”

Obi-Wan stiffened; it was things like that that irritated him. Couldn’t Qui-Gon just have saved her because it was _the right thing to do?_ It was just like the bet with Watto all over again. His old master’s heart was in the right place, but he did things for the wrong reasons.

 _I am my own man, Anakin_. That’s what he’d said, what he’d _promised_ , standing in the sunrise on Tatooine. He had to make good that promise, and do better than Qui-Gon, for his own padawan’s sake, and for Anakin’s.

The ship was asleep when Obi-Wan returned to the cabin he shared with Ahsoka, only to find Anakin sitting on the floor outside the door with his knees drawn up to his chin. His bare arms were prickled with gooseflesh, and he shivered in his thin tunic.

“Anakin.” Obi-Wan knelt down beside him.

The young man looked up, pale eyes wet in the dim light. “I’m cold,” he said quietly, as if the chill was stealing his voice away.

“You come from a warm planet,” Obi-Wan said, taking off his cloak and wrapping it around Anakin’s lean shoulders. “Too warm for my taste. Space is cold.”

Anakin caught Obi-Wan’s hands in his. “And the people in it––are they cold too?”

“Get some rest," Obi-Wan replied, trying to ignore the warmth of Anakin's palm on his knuckles. "Things won’t seem so bleak in the morning, I promise you.”

“It’s a cold night to be alone,” said Anakin softly, glancing at the door behind him.

“Anakin––” _Not here_ , he wanted to say, as if there was somewhere else with fewer consequences. He shook his head. “You’re tired.” He almost said _You don’t know what you’re doing_ , but from the way Anakin was biting his lip, it was clear he knew exactly what he was doing.

Anakin leaned in, closing the short distance between them, releasing his hands and pawing at his collar. And it would be so simple, Obi-Wan thought, to just let his fingers tangle in Anakin’s hair, to press closer and let himself be kissed, to open the door and pull him inside, and for neither of them to spend the night cold and alone. And yet… The age-old mantra beat against the inside of his skull: attachment leads to jealousy, the shadow of greed, and fear of loss is the path to the Dark Side––but above all that his mind probed him with the word _vulnerable_ , and gently, sadly he pushed back from Anakin.

“Now is not the right time for this.”

Anakin’s eyes narrowed. “You’re really turning me down, aren’t you?”

Obi-Wan stood up, folding his arms. There was no need to sound so outraged. “You can’t have everything your own way."

Anakin’s eyes widened, and he was on his feet at once. “Up until twenty-four hours ago I was somebody else’s property. I’ve never had anything _my way_ , Kenobi.”

Obi-Wan winced. That had, in hindsight, been ill-aimed. He relaxed his stance a little, holding out his hand to Anakin, just as he had that morning, coaxing him to come closer. But Anakin ignored it, sticking out his chin haughtily.

“My mother was right, everything is temporary in the desert,” he snapped, turning on his heel, “including this, apparently.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out flurgburgler.tumblr.com for art and stuff


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUYS. I'm sorry it's been three literal months.
> 
> Those of you who follow me over on Tumblr will know that I a) have had a ton of commissions to work on, and b) hurt my hand pretty bad a little while ago, and I'm not making excuses, but that's why I've not been working on this quite as diligently as I should.
> 
> Anyway, thank you so much to everyone who's stuck with this! You're all lovely. I promise there won't be such long gaps between chapters in future.
> 
> (Just FYI, I've also gone back over and given the previous chapters a thorough edit, because apparently I wrote most of them in the middle of the night and didn't bother to spellcheck especially well)

It felt like morning, but Anakin couldn’t be sure. Outside his porthole were miles of deep, silent space, pricked here and there by the delayed light of distant star systems, but for the most part it was dark. Nevertheless, Anakin felt down in his bones that if he were back on Tatooine he would be waking up now, and so even without a sunrise to assure him, he clambered down from his bunk and slipped out into the corridor.

Empty. If he shut his eyes and concentrated, he could feel the other passengers and crew stirring in their sleep. He padded through the ship on bare feet, vicariously feeling the dulled enjoyment and fears of his fellow travellers’ dreams as he past by their doors. He avoided Kenobi’s cabin, thinking about his mother instead. Had she dreamt of her son last night, spirited away across the galaxy? Had she slept warm in her husband’s arms, while Anakin shivered in solitude?

He was so wrapped up in this train of thought that he almost walked into Senator Amidala as he rounded the corner into the ship’s main room.

“Skywalker!” She started as he trod on the hem of her heavy shawl.

Anakin froze. The words ‘my lady’ were lodged in the back of his throat, and he just stared at her, until her surprise faded into that same look of sympathy she’d offered him the day before.

“An early riser too, are you?” she said.

“I thought it was morning.”

“It will be, in an hour or so. But I like to get a head start on the day.”

She tucked a dark curl behind her ear and smiled at him. He wanted to say something––something wise or witty––but the way her eyes creased at the edges reminded him of Shmi, so instead he just chewed on his lip unhelpfully.

“Is everything all right?” She kept tilting her head, like a bird, and he wondered if he carried on not speaking whether she’d peck the answer out of him.

“I…” He shifted from one foot to the other. He didn’t _know_ her. Just because she asked didn’t mean she really wanted to hear. She was just being polite, he told himself, and yet… He had spent such a lonely night; now he so wanted someone to listen to him.

“I think I’ve made a mistake,” he said quietly.

The senator tilted her head the other way.

“I think maybe––maybe I should have stayed on Tatooine.” He’d been turning those words over in his mind all night, it was almost an exorcism saying them out loud.

“Oh.” Amidala fiddled with the thick fringe on her shawl. “I apologise if we made you feel unwelcome.”

“No,” he exclaimed, “no, not at all. It’s just, Master Kenobi…”

“Ah. I see.”

Silently, she crossed the floor and seated herself at a small round table, motioning for Anakin to join her. As he did, she steepled her fingers and rested her chin on her thumbs, peering at him intently.

“Go on.”

Go on? Anakin made a face. Nobody had ever asked him to _go on_ , besides his mother––and Obi-Wan.

“I just thought things would carry on the way they were. Going to the capital, I know I can’t stop some things from changing”–– _any more than you can stop the suns from setting_ ––“but I thought at least I’d have him.”

Amidala nodded slowly, making a small _hmm_ noise in the back of her throat. “Master Kenobi is a Jedi,” she said. “I can’t claim to know what kind of situation the two of you had on Tatooine”––

 _I kissed him. Once. Twice. And he told me he’d take me to see the stars._ That, at least, he had delivered on, Anakin thought bleakly. It hadn’t been a ‘situation’. It had just been _good_.

––“but I’ve known Master Kenobi since I was a child,” Amidala continued, “the Jedi Order has been his whole life. I would imagine the return to Coruscant, to the Jedi Temple, will be weighing heavily on his mind.”

“Then I wish he would have thought of that before he dragged me with him.”

The senator raised an eyebrow. “I thought you came along to train under Master Jinn?”

“Master Jinn won me in a bet.” Anakin slumped against the back of his seat. That was another thing he’d refrained from admitting aloud. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful to him, and he––he’s a good man. But I wouldn’t have come if it wasn’t for Obi-Wan––for Master Kenobi, I mean.”

The senator shrugged deeper into her shawl as she sighed. “If I can speak plainly, Skywalker, the Jedi aren’t the sort you generally want to get tangled up with. They have a rigid life-code, and most of them follow it religiously. One might even go so far as to say _blindly_.”

It hadn’t seemed like that the last few days, Anakin thought. When he’d crossed the finish line at the Boonta Classic, applause ringing in his ears, he had been _so sure_. He hadn’t cared about the dirt on his face or the oil on his fingers when he’d taken Obi-Wan by the hand and pulled him away––he had been certain of what he wanted, and that he was wanted in return. It had been real; he’d felt it. That sort of feeling didn’t just vanish overnight.

He sorely wished he had a cigarette––something to occupy his nervous hands, something to soften the edges of this strange new environment––but what was left of his supply was tucked away in his satchel back in his cabin. This ship, the people on it: they all seemed so clean; it didn’t seem right to smoke the place up.

“But you know,” Amidala was saying, “in my experience, Kenobi isn’t quite as rigid as the rest of them. I think he spends a lot of time worrying that he’s becoming too much like his old mentor, and that influences him in all things. I am very fond of Master Jinn, but I’ve noticed over the years that he does not have a very high regard for the Jedi Code. There are aspects to which he is unflinchingly loyal, of course, but––well, you’ll see for yourself soon enough, but I doubt the Jedi Council will have approved of his conduct on Tatooine.”

“But why should that matter to Obi-Wan?”

“Because Master Kenobi is _on_ the Jedi Council. He’s a representative of the entire Order, and he is _proud_ of that. But Qui-Gon practically raised him…” She paused, a frown knitting her pretty features together. Anakin wondered if she was trying to think of a polite way to phrase herself. “Sometimes,” she said at last, “it can feel as though we’re predestined to acquire the habits of our guardians.”

“They don’t seem that similar to me.”

The senator shrugged. “Master Jinn is loyal to the will of the Force, while Master Kenobi has a sense of right and wrong that extends beyond the Jedi Code. But they both want to be good Jedi, they just have different ideas of what that entails.”

 _Beyond the Jedi Code_. Hope snagged at him, and Anakin clung tightly to those words. Obi-Wan had wounded his pride, yes, and when he recalled their dispute the night before he felt as though he’d been hollowed out, but there was so much he knew he didn’t understand about the way of the Jedi––so much he knew he didn’t understand out here at all. If there was hope for the two of them, however small, Anakin would take it.

Amidala covered her mouth with the corner of her shawl to conceal a yawn. “Excuse me, it seems I’m still not caught up on my sleep. I look forward to Coruscant, and a real bed again. It won’t be long now, you’d better get washed up and changed before we land.”

Anakin sighed and reached up to rake his hair back from his face. It was still knotted from the desert wind; his lips felt stiff and dry with salt, and whenever he moved he felt as though he was shedding sand. Whatever else happened, he was quietly certain he couldn’t make his first impressions on the galaxy’s capital reeking of sweat and wearing clothes so tattered they seemed held together through sheer willpower alone.

“My lady,” he said, lacing his fingers together anxiously, “I don’t have any other clothes.”

“Oh.”

Though he was sure it was entirely incidental, the way she looked him up and down then reminded him of the slavers markets in Mos Espa, and he sunk lower in his seat. He would definitely sneak a cigarette as soon as he was out in the open air again.

“Well then,” she announced, “we shall simply have to buy you some when we arrive.”

Anakin twitched. No one he’d ever known had _bought_ their clothes. His fellow slaves had worn modest garments of their own making, and even the free peoples of Tatooine dressed humbly, practically; there was no time or need to spend effort on oneself.

“I wouldn’t know what to wear,” he admitted. How did people dress in the capital? If the senator was any indication, he had a lot of work to do.

Amidala laughed softly, and her eyes creased in that same familiar way again. “Well now, that’s up to you. But if you ask me, Skywalker, I think you’d look very fine in black.”

 

* * *

 

Anakin watched from his cabin viewport as the Naboo cruiser weaved its way through the spires and skyscrapers of Coruscant making its way to the landing platform. Various crafts and speeders littered the sky like swarms of gnats; he recognised the make of some of them, but most were unfamiliar. Sunlight flashed off millions of transparisteel windows, but even on a cloudless day like this one, the grey of the capital seemed to stretch on forever.

The few Coruscanti Anakin had ever met on Tatooine had been bounty hunters from the Lower Levels. They’d complained about the lack of sunlight, and how they were forced to breathe unfiltered air, choked with fumes from the underground factories. The depths of the Galactic City had sounded nightmarish, but Senator Amidala––or Padme, as she’d insisted he call her––had spent the last hour filling his head with accounts of luscious rooftop gardens, and secret oases tucked away amid the opulent tower blocks on the surface.

“Buildings are just buildings,” she’d told him. “What makes a city are its people, and how they choose to live.” She went on to assure him that, whether he became a Jedi or not, she would ensure that he experienced the finest Coruscant had to offer.

“After all, Anakin,” she’d said, “if it wasn’t for you we’d probably still be stranded in that desert. We owe you everything. I owe you everything.”

The cruiser touched down gently on a landing platform high above the city’s street level. Anakin tucked a cigarette behind his ear for luck, before shouldering his satchel and heading out into the corridor.

“I was going to ask how you were,” came a familiar voice from behind him. Anakin tensed, and when he turned, Obi-Wan gestured to the cigarette. “But it’s that bad, is it?”

He shrugged. All the anger he’d managed to work up last night had been eked out of him by lack of sleep. Now he just felt drained.

Obi-Wan smiled hesitantly. The grey under his eyes suggested he’d had about as restful a night as Anakin. “I thought you were going to stop smoking.”

“You said that, not me.”

The Jedi nodded acquiescingly. He had changed out of the travel-stained robes he’d worn on Tatooine into fresh pale linens, and all traces of the desert appeared to have been thoroughly scrubbed from his hair and skin. This was probably how he usually manifested, Anakin realised; how he was meant to be seen. The man he’d met in Watto’s junk shop had been a glitch in his composure, and when you finally poured the sand out of his boots and washed the salt from his eyes, he became something else entirely––something beautiful and distant, the way stars are. But––despite the white light of the ship’s interior, Anakin thought if he squinted, he could still make out the freckles scattered across his cheekbones the bridge of his nose. The binary left their mark on everyone, or perhaps those were just the places Anakin had kissed him.

Even after last night, Anakin very much wanted to kiss him again. Or not. Everything felt so difficult to make sense of here, as though he could hear a thousand different voices in his head at once, and none of them were his own. If that was the work of the Force then frankly it could get stuffed and leave him be.

In the very least he wanted to mess up Obi-Wan’s hair and get dirt on his clothes again. The thought made his fingers twitch so he reached for his cigarette and began rolling the end idly between his lips. It was good to give his mouth something to do.

Obi-Wan watched him curiously. “The senator mentioned that the two of you had business to attend to once we landed.”

Anakin tilted his head back slightly. “She’s taking me shopping.”

“Ah, I see. Well then, might I suggest you avoid anything with feathers. She has a penchant for the flamboyant that I don’t think would suit you.”

“Telling me how to dress now, Kenobi?”

“Master Jinn and I have to report to the Jedi Council.” Obi-Wan addressed his solar plexus rather than his face, emphatically ignoring Anakin’s question. “I’d hate for you to get bored waiting around.”

“Oh,” Anakin scoffed, “they don’t want to see me then?” He hadn’t let the Jedi carve him out of the only life he’d ever known and dump him in the middle of this mess of a planet, just so they could go off and leave him there. If they Jedi wanted him then they were damn well going to have to _have_ him.

“Due to the damage the cruiser sustained, our long-range communicators were offline and we were unable to get through to the Temple on any of our usual channels. Master Jinn and I have a great deal to relay regarding the senator’s narrow escape on Naboo; I suspect we’ll be held up in discussions for quite some time.” Obi-Wan’s expression changed then and Anakin recognised that sense of fondness he’d become so accustom to over the past few days. He could feel hope catching at him again, and he tried to bury it.

“They’ll make time for you, Anakin, don’t worry,” Obi-Wan was saying, “if only because Qui-Gon will insist upon it. You should go and explore while you can.”

“You’re not just going to abandon me then?” Anakin countered dryly.

Obi-Wan frowned. “If this is because of what I said last night––Anakin, you were upset, it would have been irresponsible of me to––somebody has to look after you––not to mention the Jedi Code––and besides, I promised your mother.” He stared at Anakin pointedly then, as if his string of flustered explanations was supposed to have made some sort of profound sense.

Anakin could have laughed. What had happened to the demur Jedi who’d been standing there only moments ago? This was the Obi-Wan he thought he’d known back on Tatooine. This was the man who’d tried not to blush when he’d talked about taking him to see the stars, who had tucked Anakin’s hair behind his ear for him, and who had dared him to kiss him when he won the race. Perhaps he hadn’t been wrong to hope after all.

“You’re not very good at this, are you?” he said.

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

He smiled as serenely as he could. “And here I’ve been thinking _I_ was the problem.” As he skirted around Obi-Wan he plucked the cigarette from his mouth and stuck it between the Jedi’s lips. “Here, Master Kenobi. It’ll help settle your nerves.”

“ _Anakin_ ––”

“I’ll take R2. Call me.”

Then he turned on his heel, satchel slung over his shoulder, and made for the exit without a backwards glance. He could feel the low thrum of traffic deep in his chest and a cool breeze on his face as he approached the ramp to disembark. Padme was waiting for him, and when she saw him she extended her hand. Buoyed with a heady new confidence, Anakin linked his arm with hers and grinned. He could hear engines and the wind was in his hair, and, sure, this wasn’t podracing, but damn if the feeling wasn’t close.

Padme cast him a sidelong glance and smiled. “Are you ready, Skywalker?”

He nodded. “Yeah.” And for the first time since leaving home, he felt like it was true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Catch these hands at flurgburgler.tumblr.com for art and stuff


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A two-chapter update because I really am sorry I took so long.
> 
> Sand boy gets a makeover, and the Jedi Council have Had Enough of Qui-Gon's shenanigans.

“What’s that you’ve got there?” Qui-Gon asked, as they entered the elevator.

“It’s nothing,” Obi-Wan replied. It most definitely wasn’t nothing. He’d been clutching the cigarette Anakin had left him with ever since they’d exited the cruiser, all the way across town, up the steps to the Jedi Temple, and now apparently he was taking the blasted thing into the Council meeting as well. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t had a chance to throw it away. He could have tossed it over the side of their transport easily enough, but for some reason he…hadn’t.

Qui-Gon seemed satisfied with his answer, however, and as the elevator climbed higher the old Jedi contented himself with staring out of the glass panelling at the city vista below.

“I hope you’re not all going to gang up on me again,” he said.

Obi-Wan watched him from the corner of his eye and smiled. “Now what makes you think that?”

“I know what you’re like once you sit down with the rest of them. You’re perfectly capable of thinking for yourself until you step foot in that chamber, and then you’re just another nodding head to whatever Master Yoda has to say on any given topic.” He huffed quietly, and then affecting Yoda’s distinct accent, added: “Infallible, he is not.”

Obi-Wan had to stifle a laugh; his old master hadn’t done that impression since his padawan days. He knew he should try to savour them, the moments when he could see through the cracks in whatever wall it was that Qui-Gon had put up over the years, when he could see the friend he used to be, but Qui-Gon’s mood was already shifting.

“I know you doubt my feelings about the boy,” he continued, “and I expect to meet with similar resistance from the Council. But Anakin is gifted; his place is here among us at the Temple.”

“Master…” Obi-Wan wasn’t entirely sure how to phrase this. In truth, he’d never expected it to go this far. Somewhere between Qui-Gon winning the bet with the Toydarian and here, he’d imagined Anakin would just come out and say he wasn’t interested in becoming a Jedi, and that would be that. Perhaps if they hadn’t argued… No. Now was not the time to think about that, and it certainly wasn’t the place.

“Master,” he tried again, “there is a chance the Council will refuse to train him. Anakin is much older than––”

“He will be a Jedi,” Qui-Gon declared. “It is the will of the Force.”

“Don’t defy the Council, Master––not again.”

“I will do what I must.”

“I cannot promise that they’ll go along with you this time.” Obi-Wan sighed. “If you would only follow the Code then you would be on the Council.” And I wouldn’t have to keep defending your actions as though you were _my_ pupil, he thought.

But Qui-Gon was staring at him. “The Code,” he said, and Obi-Wan thought he almost sounded sad. Qui-Gon shook his head. “You still have much to learn, my old apprentice.”

 

* * *

 

The Council meeting dragged on, much as Obi-Wan suspected it would. As Qui-Gon recounted the events of the bombing in the hangar on Naboo, and of their escape and eventual stranding on Tatooine, the Force was thick with the agitation of so many Jedi. When Mace Windu asked if they had any idea who might have instigated such an attack, Obi-Wan felt compelled to voice Senator Amidala’s suspicions about Count Dooku. This sent an excited murmur among the council members, and even from his seat at the edge of the chamber, Obi-Wan could feel his old mentor’s frustration flare up. He felt a momentary stab of guilt; standing alone in the centre of the stately, high-ceilinged room, Qui-Gon almost looked small, and rather shabby.

It wasn’t that he necessarily agreed with Padme, but she wasn’t naïve; he felt sure that if she suspected the Count then it was possible there might be some truth to it. The Council deserved to have all the facts.

“Hmm,” Yoda mused, clawing at his chin with his three-fingered hand as though he were stroking a beard. “Hard to see, the dark side is. Discover who this assassin is, we must.”

Master Ki-Adi Mundi steepled his long fingers together as he spoke. “I sense the senator’s attacker will reveal themselves soon.”

Mace Windu nodded. “This attack was with purpose, that much is clear. Whoever it is was trying to make a statement, and it’s possible they will strike again to finish the job.”

“With the senator you must stay, Master Qui-Gon,” said Yoda. “Protect her.”

“We will use all our resources here to unravel this mystery and discover the identity of the assassin,” Mace added. “May the Force be with you.”

The chamber echoed with muted replies of “May the Force be with you” as many of the council member stood up to leave. Obi-Wan paused the edge of his seat, and as he had feared, Qui-Gon made no move to go.

“Master Qui-Gon,” Yoda looked up at him. “More to say, have you?”

The collective groan from the other Jedi was audible as they returned to their seats, but Mace Windu silenced them with a deep-lined frown.

“With your permission, Master,” Qui-Gon was saying. “I have encountered a vergence in the Force.”

Outside, twilight was creeping over the horizon, turning the inside of the council room a deep amber. Yoda peered at Qui-Gon through the dimming light, and Obi-Wan thought he’d never seen the ancient master look quite so curious.

“A vergence, you say?”

“Located around a––person?” Mace chimed in.

Qui-Gon nodded. “A boy––the young man we encountered on Tatooine. I have never felt the Force so highly concentrated around one individual before, Masters. It is my belief he was conceived by the living Force.”

Mace Windu leaned forward. “You’re referring to the prophecy, of the one who will bring balance to the Force––you believe it’s this boy?”

“I don’t presume––”

“But you do,” Yoda chuckled. “Yes you do.” He pointed his stubby walking stick at Qui-Gon. “Revealed, your opinion is.”

Qui-Gon’s shoulders sagged slightly. “I only request that the boy be tested.”

“Trained as a Jedi, you request for him?”

“Finding him was the will of the Force. I have no doubt of that.”

Mace and Yoda exchanged weary glances, and might have been on the verge of dismissing him, until Master Ki-Adi spoke up.

“Master Kenobi––what is your opinion on this matter? You’ve met this young man, after all. Is Qui-Gon’s intuition accurate, do you think?”

Obi-Wan sat up straighter, and for a moment his voice seemed lodged in his throat. He hadn’t expected to be asked for his opinion, least of all regarding Anakin. He shifted in his seat, and as he did so realised he was still holding the cigarette. It was evidence, he realised; evidence that what had transpired on Tatooine had all been real––that _Anakin_ was real. And Obi-Wan could sit there and tell the Council what they wanted to hear, that the boy was merely flesh and blood, but that wouldn’t be the truth. Obi-Wan had seen him cross the finish line at the Boonta race, and he’d seen the way the sun flashed in his eyes, and felt the raw energy in him through every glancing touch, and he knew it was true. Anakin wasn’t like him, or any man that Obi-Wan had ever met, no matter how hard he wished it might be so. Anakin was something else, and as far as the Jedi were concerned, that meant he belonged to them.

“It is my belief…” He beheld his old mentor’s desperate face, and carved the words out of his tongue as though it was made of stone. “I agree with Master Jinn. There is something special about the boy.”

Mace Windu sat back in his chair with a deep sigh. “Bring him before us, then.”

Yoda nodded, but the look his shot Obi-Wan made the skin prickle at the nape of his neck. “Tested he will be.”

 

* * *

 

Qui-Gon was silent during their descent in the elevator. Obi-Wan kept his fist tightly closed around the crushed remains of Anakin’s cigarette, telling himself he would throw it away at the first opportunity he got. He wasn’t going to smoke it, and it wasn’t as though he wouldn’t see Anakin again. Keeping hold of it was irrational.

And yet…

Hemmed in by the elevator and by Qui-Gon’s silence, his mind wandered, unbidden. He couldn’t help but wonder what might have become of the cigarette if things had played out differently last night. He had made the right decision, of that he was certain, but now he couldn’t seem to get the image out of his head of Anakin lying back amid a tangle of sheets, chest bare, his hair splayed against the pillow, exhaling a pale ribbon of smoke, with that easy smile on his face. He might have carried on picturing that all the way back to his quarters, if Ahsoka hadn’t spotted him half way across the lobby.

“Master!” she called, waving eagerly as she ran up to meet him. Luminara Unduli’s Mirialan apprentice, Barriss Offee, followed close behind. Both were grinning like they could hardly contain themselves.

“Good evening, ladies,” Obi-Wan said absently.

“Padawans,” Qui-Gon acknowledged.

“Masters,” Ahsoka began, clasping her hands together keenly, “you’re not going to beli––”

Barriss elbowed her lightly in the ribs. “Don’t gossip.”

“It’s not gossip with my own master,” the little Togruta replied, sticking out her chin. “And besides, they’re going to find out soon enough.”

Barriss rolled her eyes, but only smiled fondly as Ahsoka recommenced her narrative.

“Master.” Ahsoka looked purposely at Obi-Wan. “Skyguy’s outside, and you won’t believe what he looks like.”

Obi-Wan pinched the bridge of his nose, and vaguely heard Qui-Gon mutter “Skyguy?” in his periphery. What the in the blazes was Anakin doing here? Had Padme simply dropped him on the front steps and driven off? Surely she knew better than that. After all, they were here for _her_ benefit, discussing an attack on _her_ home world.

He sighed. “Where is he?”

Ahsoka was still grinning. “Come on,” she said, gesturing to the main entrance. A rich golden light filtered through the temple’s many towering arches as the young Togruta led them through the hallway and out into the fading daylight. Padme was standing at the top of the central flight of stone steps that led up to the temple. The evening had stretched out the shadows of the gigantic ornamental statues that guarded the entrance, but even drenched in their shade, the senator looked bright and lovely. She had her hair quaffed back like a large conch shell, and her gown was long and trailing, cinched in at the waist, with wide bell sleeves. The pale fabric made her look ghostly in the reddish glow of Coruscant’s dusk, but her face was very much alive as she chattered with the cluster of Jedi that had gathered around her. She was just laughing at something Aayla Secura had said when she noticed Ahsoka and the others approaching.

“Master Kenobi, Master Jinn.” She smiled somewhat apologetically when they were within earshot. “I’m sorry for the intrusion, but I wasn’t sure where else to take him.”

“Anakin?” Qui-Gon had the gall to sound surprised, as if this wasn’t his mess to begin with.

“Well”––Padme lowered her voice––“We couldn’t exactly go back to the penthouse; people will talk, you know. I thought perhaps you might put him up here. He is your charge after all, Master Jinn.”

“Indeed,” Obi-Wan concurred.

“Of course,” said Qui-Gon. “Of course he shall stay here. We are his people, this is where he belongs.” Smiling at Padme, he added, “We are most grateful to you for keeping an eye on him while we were…otherwise occupied.”

“I hope you didn’t get into too much trouble with the Council this time, Master,” the senator replied genially.

It was then, however, that Obi-Wan realised he’d dropped the cigarette, no doubt in his haste somewhere back in the hallway. Suddenly he very much wanted to know where Anakin was. As he worked his way through the throng that had gathered to greet the senator, he felt as though he was back on Tatooine, being jostled and crowded as he tried to find Anakin after the pod race. Anakin had found _him_ , of course, and led him away, and… Obi-Wan doubted it would happen that way here. Not at the _Jedi Temple_. It couldn’t.

He found the young mechanic leaning against the stone balustrade, being chatted to rather zealously by Quinlan Vos, and looking strangely incomplete without a haze of smoke around him.

After the Boonta race, Anakin had stood up proudly in his pod with oil and dirt smeared across his face, his wild hair catching in the wind as it came loose from its tie, and sweat gleaming on his brow and his arms and his chest. He’d smelt like metal and exhaustion, and Obi-Wan had never thought anyone so viscerally beautiful. The Anakin standing in the shadows of the Jedi Temple on this warm Coruscant evening was a different creature altogether. He might have been a shadow himself, dressed all in black. It was, Obi-Wan thought, perhaps the only time the boy had ever really been clean in his life, and beneath the grime of Tatooine his skin was golden and faintly scarred. Padme had dressed him up like a prince, with a high collared shirt, which he wore low and mostly unbuttoned, under an open waistcoat brocaded in thick dark velvet. Someone had teased the knots out of his hair and tied it back in an elaborate braid, which was already beginning to come undone, but leant him an unfamiliar elegance nonetheless. He wore boots like a Jedi might have, but the leather was so soft it barely made a sound when he up and padded towards Obi-Wan, the crowd seeming to part for him as he moved. He looked almost unrecognisable from the boy they’d met on Tatooine, and yet that terribly primal presence of his seemed accentuated here in the dark.

“Well, well, look at you,” said Obi-Wan, folding his arms. “Very fetching.”

“You think?” Anakin glanced down at himself and made a face. “Senator Amidala said I looked nice. I wouldn’t know. No one’s ever bought me clothes before.”

“You spent enough time with her, I’d have thought she’d have rubbed off on you.”

Anakin smiled. “Do I detect a hint of jealousy, Master Jedi? How unbecoming.”

“Oh no, by all means, spend as much time as you like with her. I have _very_ important Jedi business to attend to, as you know.”

Anakin looked down again; there was a low hum in the back of his throat, and his smile was warmer, less of a smirk. Obi-Wan scarcely noticed he was extending his hand to hook a finger under Anakin’s chin; he was too preoccupied with the way the temple light was pooling between Anakin’s collarbones. He wasn’t entirely sure he wouldn’t have gone further, if Padme’s clear voice hadn’t cut through the air like the peel of a bell.

“Skywalker!” she chirped. “Come, I must introduce you to Master Secura.”

Anakin waved back idly, and then shrugged at Obi-Wan. “Duty calls, I suppose.”

He made to skirt around him, and Obi-Wan almost let him go, but at the last moment he turned.

“Anakin––wait.”

The boy stopped, outlined in gold by the light of the Jedi Temple. He couldn’t just let him walk away. He glanced over Anakin’s shoulder to where Qui-Gon was standing, deep in conversation with the senator and a number of other Jedi. Ahsoka and Barriss had found Luminara, and his padawan seemed to be regaling them with their latest adventure. It was entirely possible that no one was even looking at him.

No one was looking. No one would notice.

Slowly, he brought his hand to his mouth and kissed the tips of his fingers. Then, without looking away from his eyes, he laid his fingers over Anakin’s lips in turn.

“Go on.” Obi-Wan said softly. “The senator’s waiting for you.”

But Anakin lingered, and for a moment, Obi-Wan thought he felt him kiss him back. And long after Anakin had turned away into the crowd, the Jedi pressed his hand to his cheek, and thought it still smelled of cigarettes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Catch me over at flurgburgler.tumblr.com for art and stuff


End file.
